







































































APRIL’S LADY 


UNIY. OF GALIF. LIBRARY, LOB ANGELES 


























By 
G uy Ghantepleure 


+ ) 


Cranslated by 
Moary oh Safford 


ew York 
Dodd, DiGead and Gompany 


1911 



































Copyright 1911 
By ‘Dopp, Mrap & Co. 


‘Published April, 1911 




















PART FIRST 


I 


Tuer highway, already too white, was growing more 
and more dusty under the March sun. Michel Trémor 
plunged into the wood, following the path which de- 
scends toward the cross-roads of Jouvelles. 

The trees, adorned with a pallid verdure, ready to be 
blasted by the first frost, stood forth against the sky in 
a light tracery. Among the grass, starred with anem- 
ones “ more richly clad than Solomon in all his glory,” 
lay the brown veil of the last year’s leaves. Yet vague 
murmurs of an awakening rose from the earth; myste- 
rious wings were cleaving the air or quivering in the 
thickets ; spring odours were exhaling. From this little 
universe touched by destruction, where already life was 
_ thrilling; from these mingled sounds — chirping around 
half-finished nests, voices of springs and brooks, snap- 
ping of a dry branch suddenly broken — emanated a 
powerful charm. It was the melancholy of things which 
are passing, mingled with the triumphant joy of their 
eternal renewal. Michel Trémor felt this charm very 
keenly without defining it. 

On the first fine day he had escaped from the apart- 
ment in the Rue Beaujon, which he occupied for three or 
four months every year while mingling, somewhat 


against his will, in the life of Paris, and settled with 
; I 


2 APRIL’S LADY 


delight at Rivailler. He was accustomed to seek refuge 
after the winter within the walls of his ancient tower of 
Saint-Sylvére, which possessed in his eyes the twofold 
advantage of being tolerably near Castelflore, the sum- 
mer residence of his brother-in-law, yet not sufficiently 
close for him to fear often the social invasions with 
which his sister laughingly threatened him. 

Rivailler is a pretty spot! The population at the 
utmost is two thousand; there are neat houses and lux- 
uriant gardens grouped around a church as dainty as 
a toy; woods, meadows, streams, springs and, here and 
there, in the environs, without counting Castelflore and 
Précroix, the finest estates in the neighbourhood, ele- 
gant villas, coquettish little chateaux standing on the 
shores of the water, or perched on the top of some easily- 
accessible hill. 

Michel Trémor, who had explored a number of coun- 
tries and intended to go to Norway early in May 
with the expectation of visiting several other lands, 
liked to rest eyes a trifle wearied by foreign views upon 
this peaceful horizon, where the Marne glittered in the 
sun like a huge pool of liquid silver. 

The cross-roads of Jouvelles—a natural glade 
where, in a niche supported against the trunk of a 
beech, smiled a saint in an embroidered robe, his brow 
crowned with stars — was one of his favourite retreats. 

Michel threw his dark cloak on the moss and stretched 
himself at full length with a sigh of pleasure. Look- 
ing for a moment at the sky which, covered with clouds, 
gleamed grey through the interlaced boughs, he opened 
the book he had brought, but it was to take from among 


APRIL'S LADY 3 


the pages several sheets of blue paper on which ran the 
elegant writing of a woman: 


** My dear little brother: 

“Jt is not to give you pleasure, but to scold you 
that I am writing. I said to my husband this morning: 
‘The mischief is certainly increasing! It may be all 
very well for Béthune, who is building something or 
other at Précroix, to bury himself at Rivailler the first 
of March. But I don’t believe the dove-cote of Saint- 
Sylvére is capable of being adorned.’ So, if I don’t 
look after you, brother mine, you'll turn monk some 
day. That would be a pity. 

“Were you really bored in Paris? You ought to 
come to us at Cannes. The season has been delight- 
ful. May Béthune will tell you about our carnival fol- 
lies. It isn’t three weeks since she left us with the 
children, recalled to Paris, where she must be still, by 
the illness of one of her old Philadelphia friends, Miss 
Stevens, who also spent the winter here in Cannes — 
a very tiresome person! but — where was I? Oh, I 
was only telling you that I wanted to see you here. 
Robert would be delighted to have a visit from you. 
The southern climate has cured his throat so well, that 
he eagerly seeks every occasion to exercise it in political 
discussions and you know I am no match for him; your 
nephew swears only by Saint Trémor the hermit, and 
Nysette’s eyes dance with joy whenever your name is 
mentioned. As for me, I am dying to kiss you. It’s 
six months since I have done so. And you and I are 
such good correspondents that, before your last letter, 


~ 


4 APHIS LADY 


it was three that we had communicated only in tele- 
graphic style. So, you understand that I have a 
thousand things to tell you. My head is full of plans. 
Don’t laugh, sir. I am thirty-two, fourteen months 
your senior, and I feel my terrible responsibilities! 
This wandering Jew or solitary life isn’t fit for you. 
I want to marry you off, dear Michel; I have even found 
you a wife. 

“If only I were near you, seated in some old worm- 
eaten chair in the tower of Saint-Sylvére, leaning on 
an ancient table laden with parchments! It would be 
such fun to answer your questions: ‘ How old is she? 
Is she pretty?’ She is twenty-two, brother mine, and 
she is pretty. Besides, you know her. You met her 
six years ago, I think, at a dinner in my house. Chap- 
eroned by a respectable governess who adored her and 
called her charmingly Zanne, she was spending a few 
months in Paris to fulfil her grandmother’s wish and 
become more familiar with the language spoken there, 
the one the grammarians do not teach. You had ar- 
rived from some barbarous country and were prepar- 
ing to set out again for I don’t know what other one. 
I had invited half a dozen people, among them your 
friend Albert Daran, who gave us during the evening 
a sort of lecture about archeology, excavations, 
Salammbé and so many tiresome things that the poor 
child fell asleep, to the great scandal of the respectable 
governess. 

“Do you remember? But I will take pity on your 
curiosity. It is Mrs. Jackson’s daughter, our little 
cousin from America, the orphan girl to whom our 


ee Ss ee Oe ee ee ee ee — 





I abhor, and I have these particulars from Madame 


APRS: LADY 5 


Aunt Régine was grandmother. Poor Zanne is alone 
for the second time! Her only relative, an uncle who 
had adopted her, died last year. She came to Cannes 
in December with that old Miss Stevens from Philadel- 
-phia, the friend of May Béthune, whose reader she had 
become, less to increase her income than to feel that she 
was under some little protection. A praiseworthy thing, 
when one thinks that I am speaking of an American 
girl. 

“She is a jewel, Michel! And so good, so affec- 
tionate! True, she isn’t rich — you know that Aunt 
Régine left nothing, and the adopted father’s property 
is more than modest — but what is that to you? You 
have never deigned to bestow a look at all the large 
dowries I have presented to you. In short, this darling 
has won me, and my enthusiasm would have much more 
to say, but I expect to finish this pleading while keeping 
you under my maternal eye. What. a triumph, little 
brother, if my folly should marry your wisdom! 

“ Apropos of folly, guess whom I saw the other day 
at Monte Carlo, through which she was passing, a widow 
and a more upsetting woman than ever? The Franco- 
Russian alliance, my dear Michel, or, in other words, 
Comtesse Wronska. The count died suddenly of cere- 
bral congestion, and as he left no will the beautiful 


_ Faustine will return to Paris as poor as in the days when 
_ you and she sighed together under the shade of Castel- 


flore. True, for seven years she has had the pleasure of 
nursing Wronski’s rheumatism! 
“ Of course I avoided speaking to this creature, whom 


6 APRIL’S LADY 


Vernier, who is infatuated with her. Between ourselves, 
I think that Wronski did not succeed in inspiring Faus- 
tine with an aversion for marriage — which is amazing! 
— that she has a great desire to catch another husband 
and is a little tired of the Nevsky Prospect, so she is com- 
ing to try her luck in the neighbourhood of the Bois de 
Boulogne. She will be able to throw the first bait at the 
opera next Friday. Good little Madame Vernier car- 
ried her obligingness so far as to lend her her box. 

* But not content with chattering, here I am talking 
scandal. : 

** May we meet soon, dear brother. Think a little of 
my affection for the American girl. Though you by 
no means deserve it, I kiss you very lovingly. 

* Your CoLerTe.” 


Michel read attentively from beginning to end this 
long letter, which had been handed to him just as he 
was going out. His sister’s projects brought a smile 
into his brown eyes. Marry him off, and to a stranger, 
an unknown relative, whose very name, an instant be- 
fore, he would have been unable to remember! Another 
wager of charming, madcap Colette. 

Aunt Régine’s granddaughter. Really these words 
told very little. 

The romantic marriage of Mademoiselle Régine 
Trémor to a skilful Philadelphia physician, Dr. Brook, 
who had come to Paris to attend a congress, had 
taken place about fifteen years before Michel’s birth, 
and as Madame Brook’s visits to France grew more and 
more infrequent as time passed, he had seen “ Aunt 


APRIL'S: “LADY 5 


Régine” only once. ‘Aunt Régine, a widow, dressed 
entirely in black, with a face already faded and wrin- 
kled by tears, and hair still light, which curled slily 
under her crépe hat. They knew she was not well off 
— her husband’s laboratory and clinic had swallowed so 
much money!—they guessed that she was weary of 
America and the Americans, who understood her no bet- 
ter than she did them. Yet,. before returning to Phil- 
adelphia, where her only daughter had married, she had 
said: ‘It is over, I shall never come back.” And she 
had not come back, nor had she written except at long 
intervals. She had lost her son-in-law and daughter 
during an epidemic; at last she herself died, very weary 
of life, leaving in the world only a child of fourteen, 
her granddaughter. 

This child, whom her relatives in Europe almost ig- 
nored, was Miss Jackson, the little Zanne whom Madame 
Fauvel had welcomed kindly in Paris, and with whom, 
six years later, she was so bewitched at Cannes. 

While reading Madame Fauvel’s letter, Aunt Ré- 
_ gine’s nephew had dimly seen again the indistinct out- 
line of a little fair-haired girl with whom he had not 
exchanged ten words, and who had really fallen asleep 
in the drawing-room one evening when, according to 
his custom at the time, Albert Daran was discussing 
archeology and he, Michel, absorbed in sorrowful 
thoughts, allowed himself to be lulled by his friend’s 
voice, without seeking to distinguish the meaning of the 
words uttered. 

Six years! It was six years ago! How slowly, time 
had accomplished its remedial work; how many days — 


9 


8 APRIL’S LADY 


though prompt in changing love to hatred —it had 
consumed before transforming hatred into indifference, 
before enveloping the past with forgetfulness! 

Michel mechanically folded the blue sheets and 
slipped them into his pocketbook. Already the little 
cousin from America and the matrimonial visions of 
Madame Fauvel were lost in mists. The young man’s 
brain was occupied solely by the only words in this long 
letter which had awakened an echo: “‘ Guess whom I saw 
at Monte Carlo, through which she was passing, a widow 
and a more upsetting woman than ever Pig 

Orphaned in their early childhood and placed under 
the guardianship of Monsieur Louis Trémor, their 
father’s brother, Colette and Michel had been educated 
almost entirely alone. Monsieur Louis Trémor loved 
his niece and nephew most tenderly, but a bachelor, and 
a little selfish like the best of elderly unmarried men, he 
had found it very simple to borrow from the abbey of 
Théléme the essential principle of its pedagogical sys- 
tem, “ Do what you like.” Michel and Colette knew 
scarcely any other rule. If Uncle Louis never had 
cause seriously to repent such extreme indulgence, it 
was because he had given proof of some perspicacity in 
trusting to the upright, generous nature of the chil- 
dren confided to his charge. Yet when he died, mourned 
by Colette, whom he had married when very young to 
a distinguished lawyer, and by Michel, who, master of 
his fortune and his time, seemed to employ neither badly, 
he had been permitted to perceive an amusing contrast 
in the practical effect of his theories. 

Uncle Trémor’s principles which, in Colette, had pro- 





OP daueliy ils Sink ceed ai oe 


APRIV’S: EADY 9 


duced the accomplished type of the society woman, had 
made Michel a sort of highly-civilised savage. 

People laughed at the young man’s awkwardness, his 
absent-minded, indifferent airs, the airs of an “old 
scientist ”; they wondered at his aptitude for the an- 
cient Oriental languages, and no human being knew 
that in the breast of this tall, silent fellow beat a heart 
famished for love, that in the brain, crammed with 
erudition, of this library rat, thrilled the romantic im- 
agination of a boarding-school girl of fifteen captivated 
by a fairy prince. 

Michel’s princess did not come from the ideal world 


_of fairies. She had taken the same course of lessons 


on the piano as Colette, lived modestly with a widowed 
mother on the fifth floor of a Paris apartment house, 
and bore the very ordinary name of Faustine Morel. 

Michel and Faustine were nearly the same age; they 
had met for the first time one Thursday on the terrace 
of the Luxembourg, during a game of hide and seek; 
since then the young lad’s imagination bestowed on all 
the heroines of romance, fable, and even history, abun- 
dant tresses of pale golden hair, a fair complexion, dark 
eyes with tawny lights, and especially a crimson mouth 
around which sometimes hovered a strange, incompre- 
hensible smile, that might be ironical or gay, coquettish 
or a trifle bitter. At that time, Faustine was the bosom 
friend of Colette, who devoted herself to her with mar- 
vellous and somewhat whimsical ardour. 

If Mademoiselle Morel had yielded to the entreaties 
of Colette, who wished to drag her into her whirl of 
gaities, it would have been sufficient to induce Michel 


10 APRIL’S LADY 


to renounce his evenings of work more frequently. But 
with a precocious seriousness and a gentle dignity which 
impressed Uncle Trémor, the pretty girl denied herself 
the pleasures of a life of luxury to which her financial 
situation did not permit her to aspire. 

Yet though Madame Morel and her daughter de- 
clined to attend balls and large dinner parties, their 
answer was very different when the invitation was to a 
family entertainment and, when Colette had married 
Monsieur Fauvel, Faustine was invited to Castelflore for 
several weeks every summer. Simple, stylish, assuming 
toward young men in general, and Michel in particular, 
a rather haughty reserve, talking little, but well, just 
enough to reveal the charm of an unusually cultivated 
_ mind, the young girl had won the admiration of Mon- 
sieur Trémor. She somewhat surprised Robert Fauvel, 
who was in no hurry to pass judgment, but who had 
~ already lost all hope of ever checking Colette’s reckless 
enthusiasms. As for Michel, he yielded to the en- 
chantment without trying to escape from it. He loved 
the little friend of his childhood with the longing to 
adore while admiring, to incarnate in a single being the 
most beautiful dreams; he loved her also with infinite 
respect and triumphant joy. And of these raptures, 
he constructed a great delicious mystery, which he kept 
jealously to himself. ; 

Yet one summer evening, in the warm, intoxicating 
silence of the garden of Castelflore, he spoke; the eager, 
passionate confession burst from his lips. Then the 
statue appeared to become animate, and Michel could 
believe himself beloved by this beautiful young girl, 


APRITLZS- LADY Ad 


whose poverty had showed itself so proudly. By virtue 
of his favourite adage, Uncle Trémor made no objection 
to his nephew’s matrimonial projects, but the engage- 
ment must be a long one, and by Monsieur Fauvel’s ad- 
vice, it was decided that there should be no formal an- 
nouncement for a year, at which time Michel would have 
completed his period of military service. The young 
man resigned himself to the delay. All through the 
winter and the spring the postman brought him exqui- 
site letters; on days when he had leave of absence Faus- 
tine’s welcome was tender and agitated. 

What happened afterward? How did Madame Morel 
and her daughter find themselves in a new circle, a cos- 
-mopolitan and somewhat flashy society where very great 
and very insignificant people mingled? By what com- 
_ bination of circumstances were they led to conceive am- 
bitions hitherto unknown to them? This is what the 
Trémors could not fathom. 

But gradually letters from Faustine grew less fre- 
quent and when Michel, at last released from his service, 
hastened to Paris, anxious and bewildered, all the pray- 
ers and entreaties of love remained futile. Mademoi- 
selle Morel calmly said that she had reflected a great 
deal and reading the depths of her own heart better, 
she had perceived that there would be no possible happi- 
ness in a marriage between her and Michel. 

A month later, Faustine Morel married Comte Stan- 
islas Wronski, a Russian multi-millionaire. 

Michel was one of those who “ suffer and die without 
speaking.” He made a secret of his despair as he had 
of his love. But he shut his lips, tore up the work he 


12 ARR S- “EADY. 


had commenced and changed his mode of life. For 
more than a year he devoted himself to pleasure as he 
had done to study; then, disgusted, he made a great 
effort, tore himself away from Paris, set out for Cairo 
and remained absent six months. 

The spell was broken, only the man whom Michel re- 
stored to himself and his family no longer bore much 
resemblance either to the timid youth who had wor- 
shipped Faustine as an idol, nor the enthusiastic student 
who expected everything from science and dreamed of 
devoting to it his intellectual life. 

Always optimistic, Uncle Trémor died congratulating 
himself upon the metamorphosis, without asking him- 
self whether, beneath the mask of the Parisian gentle 
man whose courteous attitude and intelligent indolence 
he now approved, there might not still lurk some traces 
of the young savage whose unsocial labor and extreme 
sentiments he had tacitly condemned. True, the mask 
rarely fell, and only i in the solitude of the “ sa 
yére dove-cote.” 

Thus eight years had passed, cicatrising the wound. 
Michel had never again seen the woman who had been 
his fiancée, and the charming image had gradually van- 
ished from his memory. Yet, after these eight years, 
reading at the cross-roads of Jouvelles the name which 
Colette, too versatile herself to believe in eternal sor- 
rows, had traced with a light hand, the young man 
started. Like Michel, like so many others, Faustine 
had expected from life more than life had been able to 
bestow; her talents, her little ambitious calculations had 


APRIL’S LADY 13 


been futile! Stanislas Wronski was one of those men 
who are afraid, by making a will, to remind death of 
their age. 

Poor creature, to degrade herself for nothing! 


ee ee ae eee eee hs 
ae ae = ey 


Il 


Day was advancing. A coppery light in the sky was 
bordered with large clouds of strange forms, which grew 
denser and insensibly descended nearer to the earth. 
Michel Trémor did not yet think of opening the book 
he carried; he had been repeating to himself the story 
of his youth, enjoying the memory of his ideas, his feel- 
ings in those days, smiling —not very cheerily — at 
their fresh ingenuousness. 

A drop of rain fell on his hand, without his noticing 
it. 

“* Poor woman!” he repeated. 

Curiosity fevered his brain. ‘“ Did she love me? ” 
he said to himself, repeating the old question. “ Now 
that in her turn she knows the bitterness of hopes de- 
ceived, now that she has endured to no purpose the 
shame of a venal marriage, now that a fatality snatches 
from her the wealth for which she did not fear to bind 
her youth and beauty to an old man’s infirmities, now, 
will she think of me? Will she think that, after all, 
she might perhaps have been happier with the poor 
lover whom she tortured? Does she think that the 
rapture of felicity which she might have bestowed in 
exchange for an entire life, a fervent love, an absolute 
devotion, would have been equal to appearing at the 
court of Russia, and scattering gold without reckoning 
it? Does she regret what is no more? Does she cry 


out: ‘Oh, if all this were only a terrible delusion, if — 
’ 14 


a eT ee ee ap ee ae rae, ee ee ee 


APRIL S 2A DS: T 


suddenly, I could lay my weary head upon his breast, 
feel his lips upon my burning eyes, and thus forget 
everything?’ ” 

The clouds and the wood were illuminated, then a peal 
of thunder shook the earth. 

Recalled to reality, Trémor rose and, wrapping him- 
self in his cape, hurried toward the highway by the most 
direct road, but the rain increased and Saint-Sylvére was 
still five or six kilometres distant. Michel hesitated; in 
a few minutes he could reach another shelter, the little 
chapel which the inhabitants of Rivailler pointed out 
to strangers as one of the curiosities of the neighbour- 


‘hood, under the name of the “ Green Sepulchre.” 


A furious gust of wind hastened the young man’s de- 
cision; he turned back and entered the forest to gain 
the Green Sepulchre more promptly. 

This edifice, whose Gothic character was somewhat 
doubtful, so far as chronological authenticity is con- 
cerned, sheltered in the midst of the woods the tomb of 
an unknown knight. For nearly half a century it was 
abandoned to the ivy, which each year clasped the walls 
a little more firmly, marring the pointed arches of the 
windows, covering or oddly muffling the fantastic grim- 
aces of the gargoyles. Michel loved this melancholy 
place. Several times he had sketched, with a delicate 
pencil, the exterior details of the monument or mau- 
soleum in the middle of the chapel, the iron-covered 
form of the mysterious knight, his.somewhat emaciated 
manly features, his closed eyes, his fine beard framed by 
the raised helmet, his hand clasped in a somewhat arti- 


_ ficial pose upon the cross-shaped sword, and — carved 


s 


16 APRS: LADY 


upon the stone pedestal of the tomb-couch, near the 
shield adorned with fluers-de-lis — the big greyhound, 
like some strange heraldic animal, which seemed to guard 
his sleep. 

But this time the young man did not feel at all 
charmed by the prospect of a meditation in the funereal 
retreat. Already wet, he wondered wearily at what time 
he could return to Saint-Sylvére. 

The whole forest was quivering under the swifter, 
denser fall of the raindrops. A veil of melancholy 
seemed to have been thrown everywhere— upon the 
light leafage of the trees, which appeared to be shiver- 
ing; on the streams, on the little flowers that hung their 
fragile heads and lost the lustre of their whiteness. 

An exclamation of annoyance addressed to the ele- 
ments escaped Michel’s lips; perhaps, too, in the depths 
of his soul, he reproached himself for having welcomed 
the unhealthful memories of the past. 

He no longer loved Faustine, and every bond between 
her and himself was broken, but he would have liked to 
have heard of her again or seen her for the last time; he 
would fain have read in her eyes, once so beloved, a shade 
of remorse, to have seen in them the glitter of a tear. 
To believe himself a little regretted, a little mourned by 
her for whom he had wept and mourned so much, would 
have brought strange sweetness to his heart — not a 
feeling of revenge, but a serenity of pardon. ; 

The rain was still falling, driven by a furious wind 
which bowed the slender trees and flung them against 
one another, breaking with a shock the branches that 
were too dry to bend. 


APRIL’S LADY 17 


At last Michel reached the Green Sepulchre. As his 
tall figure, draped in the dark cloak, towered upon the 
threshold of the doorway, a cry of terror echoed from 
within the chapel. In the dusk which gained a bluish 
tint from the last fading daylight sifted through the 
only window time had respected, a young lad of about 
fifteen appeared, singularly modern in this Gothic en- 
vironment, with his serge blouse, knickerbockers, and 
yellow leggings buttoned to the knee. 

*¢ Oh, sir, I took you for the knight or one of his rel- 
atives . . . your beard is exactly the same,” said 
the child with an accent which, though very slight, was 
_ sufficiently distinct to permit a trained ear to distinguish 
in it a pleasant reminder of the language of Shake- 
speare. 

Then, with a deep sigh, he added drolly: 

* Well, it’s a relief to see a living being! I am 
glad.” 

Suddenly, as the stranger came a little nearer to the 
door, Michel perceived that he was confronting a tall 
girl or a very young lady in a bicycle costume. The 
machine was there, disrespectfully leaning against the 
stone couch, the tires brushing the fleurs-de-lis on the 
shield. 

“IT rather doubt whether the knight’s relatives come 
to visit him after or before midnight, and I confess that 
I was ignorant of the resemblance between my beard and 
his,” replied Michel, who had recovered from his sur- 
prise, and was amused by the self-possession of the young 
girl who, terrified at finding herself alone with a statue, 
instantly felt at her ease with a being in flesh and blood. 


18 APRIL’S LADY 


“On the other hand,” he went on, “ I know that many 
highway robbers would appear very presentable to-day 
in comparison with myself, and I ought to be grateful to 
you for having feared only a phantom when you saw 
me in my present guise.” 

“Oh! even a robber would have been welcome in the 
state of mind in which I was,” replied the young girl, 
putting into her oh! all the unconscious drollery of her 
foreign accent. 

“So you would not have hesitated between a pick- 
pocket and a ghost?” 

“Not an instant.” 

“ Well,” answered Trémor, laughing, “ I believe I am 
neither one nor the other, and if I can be useful to you 
in any way I shall be delighted. I suppose some mis- 
understanding has separated you from the companions 
of your ride and you are lost in the woods like Hop o’ 
my Thumb?” 

Michel Trémor usually affected a rather cold reserve 
toward women. But in the presence of this child who 
might need his protection, and whom he met outside of 
social conventionalities, he had spoken very nahi 
with somewhat familiar simplicity. 

The young girl was apparently offended by this lack 
of formality. Perhaps, too, now that she was reas- 
sured concerning the appearance of a ghost, she felt, 
after the first impression of relief, that she must show 
some caution in the presence of the terrestrial being 
whom her childish terror had so joyously welcomed. 
Her little head was thrown back, her delicate nostrils 


APRIL’S. LADY. 19 


contracted, the whole saucy face expressed supreme dis- 
dain. 

“No misunderstanding has separated me from my 
companions, sir, for I was alone and as I never go with- 
out a road-map, I had no cause to fear the fate of Hop 
o’ my Thumb. But I had just been to see some poor 
people and attracted by the pretty nooks in the woods, 
I was loitering — like Little Red Riding Hood, I be- 
lieve-—— when the rain began to fall. That is what 
forced me to take refuge in this ruin, where I shall wait 
for the end of the shower — very patiently.” 

** On condition that the ghosts don’t appear,” Michel 
was about to answer, smiling at the tone of offence. 

But he reflected that the young stranger had doubt- 
less reached the age for the first long dresses, the period 
when, full of their new dignity, young girls live in the 
constant fear of being still treated like children. 

He bowed silently, went to the entrance and, having 
removed his cloak, heavy with dampness, began to look 
out of doors. 

“Ts it still raining?” asked the young girl, a little 
softened. 

** Not so much.” 

There was silence for several minutes then, seeing 
that Michel showed the most peaceful intentions, the 
stranger thawed entirely and came to lean against the 
doorway opposite to him. 

“I can’t offer you my cloak, for the rain has turned 
it into a sponge, and I am very much afraid that you 
will take cold,” remarked the young man quietly. 


20 AERIS, ead Y: 


She shook her head: 

“J don’t think so, sir; at any rate, I prefer the cold 
to darkness,— which I hate.” 

In fact, the interior of the chapel was now almost 
dark, and the knight’s tomb, on which the last rays of 
light fell more directly, glimmered vaguely without 
definite outlines in the shadow. 

Michel smiled. The bicyclist added: 

“This chapel, so full of mystery, terrifies me. When 
I saw the bell turrets appear, I did not expect to enter a 
tomb. But I don’t know this region. I have only been 
here since Saturday — that is, scarcely five days. What 
was the name of the knight who is buried here, when he 
was alive? MHasn’t he the reputation of leaving his 
funeral bed sometimes, now that he is dead? ” 

** He has, not wishing to fail in this duty of every 
honest legendary dead man; but calm yourself, the mid- 
night air, I repeat, is the only one which spectres can 
breathe. As for the knight’s name, I regret that I can- 
not tell you; let us see.” 

Michel struck a match and, approaching the tomb, 
threw its light upon this sentence deeply graven in the 
stone: ‘* Allys was the lady of his heart.” It was fol- 
lowed by another: “ Is there a sweeter name? ” 

“It is said,” the young man went on, blowing out 
the match, “ that, betrayed by some fair chatelaine who 
had promised him her faith, the poor knight set out for 
Palestine. Mortally wounded in battle, and in despair 
that he could never again see her whom he still loved, © 
he was cared for by pilgrims who vowed to him that they 
would carry his body back to France, but in the anguish 


APRIL?S: LADY 21 


of the death agony, the knight had forgotten his own 
name, and most of the circumstances of his former life. 
He could tell the charitable pilgrims only the story of 
his love and the name of its unworthy object. This 
was carved upon the crusader’s tomb, with the words 
which he had doubtless uttered to excuse himself for no 
longer knowing what he himself was called: ‘ Is there a 
sweeter name?’ This is the primitive tradition, then 
popular imagination furnished a variation, evidently 
suggested by these somewhat obscure words: the knight, 
by forgetting that the name of Mary exceeds in sweet- 
ness every human word, had committed a blasphemy. 
Condemned to wander in the wood every midnight, he 
will know supreme repose only on the day when, by 
some miracle, the name of a mortal written on the chapel 
wall will seem sweeter to his ear than that of Allys, and 
will make his heart beat again. If we were not en- 
veloped in darkness, you could see how many charitable 
souls have attempted to soothe this desolate shade, but 
they are, in general, the souls of tourists. For a pop- 
ular saying adds that the ghost, captivated and very 
jealous of the lady of his salvation, would not permit 
her to belong to another, but would again become a man 
to wed her himself — and the girls in this neighbour- 
hood are a little afraid of this husband from beyond. 
the grave.” 

The young girl laughed. 

*O dear me! what a wild story — but a pretty one, 
isn’t it? ” 

“Do you think so? Then perhaps I am wrong in 
telling you that this version is only a century old at 


22 APRIL'S: LADY 


most. The medieval spirit which conceived the fancy 
should have been born in the time of Hernani! The 
tomb, besides, was built before the chapel, which is a 
consolation, though it certainly does not date back to 
the crusades.” 

“Nonsense,” replied the stranger  obstinately ; 
“those considerations do not attack the truth or at 
least the probability of the tale. Palestine, which can 
be replaced by another country, and the Saracens, for 
whom another people can be substituted, alone count 
in this legend; the knight might have lived in any age.” 

** Alas! you are right,” Michel assented; “ the story 
of the poor, brave man who is deceived, and dies of it, 
belongs to every time.” 

And he thought: 

“Men do not always die of it; they are most fre- 
quently cured, but is that a blessing? ” 

Then he thought himself utterly ridiculous. As for 
his companion in captivity, she had scarcely heard the 
remark and did not divine the reflection; she was gravely 
sharpening a pencil with a huge pocket knife. 

**T am going to write my name on the wall,” she said 
earnestly; “I, too, want to make an effort for the re- 
pose of the poor knight.” 

Michel obligingly opened the precious box of matches, 
but the young girl had already lighted the lantern of 
her machine and knelt near the wall. So, leaving her 
to her childish task, he remained at the threshold of 
the chapel. His burning temples were relieved by the 
coolness of the atmosphere. 

Besides, the weather was improving; the pattering of 


APRIL’S LADY 23 


the rain had ceased. The streams, swollen by the storm, 
were singing in the tranquil peace of the forest, and at 
times the trilling of a bird blended with their contin- 
uous murmur. | 

“Tt will be a fine evening,” Michel predicted. 

“So much the better,” replied the bicyclist. 

Then she rose. 

“That is done,” she added. ‘Who knows, per- 
haps I have thus bound myself to the unknown knight 
and have agreed to become his wife? ” 

Michel was on the point of asking what name she 
had written, but he was afraid of again rousing a sen- 
-sitiveness which he knew to be somewhat suspicious. 

* Oh,” he replied, “I should be a little surprised if 
the knight, even to wed you, Mademoiselle, should care 
to encumber himself with the burden of life for the sec- 
ond time. I rather believe that if your name is sweeter 
than that of Allys, the noble paladin will have the in- 
gratitude to forget her who bears it, in the delight of 
feeling himself at last forever dead.” 

“Who knows? Who knows? Perhaps he will wish 
to enjoy modern life! Perhaps the improvements of 
my bicycle may touch his heart. In his time, it could 
not have been pleasant every day.” 

While speaking the young girl had raised her ma- 
chine and was somewhat nervously adjusting the lan- 
tern. ~ 

** Come, I think the shower is over,” said Michel, tak- 
ing a step outside of the chapel. 

At first the stranger did not reply, then she began 
abruptly : 


24 A Ral: Ady: 


“ T should like to know, sir, if by chance you and I 
are going in the same direction. Darkness, darkness 
in the woods makes an impression which I cannot con- 
trol — in short, I am afraid.” 

Michel could not help smiling. Offering no apol- 
ogy for the resentment with which she had just now 
refused his offer of service, she condescended to ask it 
without too much haughtiness, now that he no longer 
offered. ; 

“IT should be unpardonable to permit you to cross 
the forest alone at this hour,” he answered charitably, 
without pluming himself on his victory. “If you 
will allow me, I will take you to your home.” 

“T am going to the chateau of Précroix, to Madame 
Béthune’s.” 

“'To Madame Béthune’s, capital! Précroix is even 
nearer than the tower of Saint-Sylvére, where I go after- 
ward.” 

The young girl uttered a little cry of surprise. 

* Do you live in the tower of Saint-Sylvére? ” 

“Certainly — as its owner. May I ask why you 
seem astonished? ” 

*¢ Astonished, oh! not at all! But I admired from a 
distance, two days ago, the strange dwelling of which 
Claude Béthune had told me.” 

Michel took the bicycle and with a swift movement 
drew it across the threshold of the chapel, then he turned 
toward the little stranger. 

“Oh!” she cried, “ I was not mistaken, you are like 
the knight. I don’t know whether it is the carriage of 


APRIL’S LADY 25 


your head or the cut of your beard — but it is strik- 
ing!” 

‘JT shall be charmed if the resemblance does not end 
by terrifying you,” replied the young man laughing. 
* Shall we go?” 

In twenty minutes they had gained the road. Michel 
pushed the machine which ran with difficulty over the 
soaked earth, furrowed by ruts; the stranger, with 
her hand on the other end of the handle-bar, walked at 
his side with a firm, regular step. 

“JT did not suppose that Madame Béthune would 
reach Rivailler until the first of next month,’ T'rémor 
began for the sake of saying something. 

“ Précroix is to be given up to workmen and, as 
Madame Béthune expects to be absent all summer, she 
thought it useful to superintend the commencement of 
the intended repairs herself.” 

“ She is so extraordinarily active! A regular Ameri- 
can, isn’t she? But it seems to me that the work at 
Précroix is depriving her a little of the pleasure of look- 
ing after her guests? ” 

This suggestion was answered by a shrug of the 
shoulders. 

“Ts it because you have met me alone that you make 
the remark, sir? Yet it is perfectly natural. Madame 
‘Béthune, as you have just said, is a true American. 
Since she could not leave the chateau to-day and carry 
herself the help urgently needed by one of her depend- 
ants —the mother of a peasant in the suburbs — she 
asked me to take her place in the task. The distance 


26 APHIS LADY. 


was somewhat long, so I rode my bicycle, and that is 
the whole affair. If necessary, I would do it again to- 
morrow. It would be impossible for me ever to endure 
the humiliating dependence to which your young French 
women submit.” 

“ Yes, but then —” Michel timidly objected. 

A merry laugh interrupted him. 

“Then one ought not to fear dead knights or dark- 
ness. I admit it.” 

Leaving the forest behind them, Michel and his com- 
panion now walked along the edge of the freshly 
ploughed fields which stretched along both sides of the 
road, and exhaled a good, healthful odour of wet earth: 
in the distance the lights of Rivailler dotted with fire 
the almost total darkness of the night. From time to 
time the footsteps of a peasant in sabots, or the creak- 
ing of a heavily loaded cart disturbed the silence of the 
country, then the peasant passed with a mechanical 

good evening, the jolting outline of the vehicle crossed 
gradually, as if in fragments, the luminous ray cast by 
the bicycle lantern, and all sounds died away until lost in 
the darkness of the night. 

“If I had not met you,” said the young girl frankly, 
“I should have died of fright; my corpse would have 
been found in the chapel to-morrow.” 

** And the story which pleased you would have been 
enlarged by a new incident. People would have said 
that, charmed by your name and unable to resign him- 
self to losing you, the worthy knight had borne you to 


the other world. ‘That is the way legends are always 
created.” 





APRIILS. -LADY 27 


“TI love them when they are as interesting as this one. 
_ Has not the tower of Saint-Sylvére any?” 

* No,” replied Michel, somewhat curtly, without know- 
ing why. 

All conversation ceased for several minutes. Michel 
left the road and took the direct route which, passing 
around the village, led to the chateau of Précroix. 

At last the young man tried to resume the common- 
place dialogue. 

“Ts Monsieur Béthune at Rivailler too? ” 

“No,” replied the stranger, who had not noticed the 
short reply just made by her improvised protector. 
_* Monsieur Béthune isn’t fond of the country.” 

* And the children? ” 

** Maude and Claire are here, but Claude remained in 
Paris with his father on account of his school.” 

“ Claude is one of my great friends.” 

* One of mine too. Wecorrespond. What a nice boy 
he is! So full of fun —andatease! O such atease!” 

* Really! Would Claude venture to tease you, Ma- 
demoiselle? ” . 

* Oh! dear me! Would he tease me! ” cried the young 
girl. 

** And you don’t scold him? ” 

I do scold him. But Claude is like me, he recog- 
nises no authority.” 

* What, you are an anarchist to that degree? ” 

* Certainly.” 

* You recognise no authority? ” 

“None,” flatly declared the amazing little lady. 
Then she went on, laughing: 


28 APR >. LADY 


“To tell the truth, at this moment, by way of excep- 
tion, I am forced to admit that of the Béthunes’ gov- 
erness.” 

A comical exclamation of horror escaped the lips of 
Michel. 

“ Miss Sarah, isn’t it? An old American, thin as 
people rarely are, uglier than the ugliest, and romantic 
into the bargain! I saw her last year at Précroix. As 
I pitied her loneliness and talked with her sometimes, I 
was accused of paying her attention. Poor thing! It 
seems that she has an unbearable temper.” 

Another peal of laughter rippled upon the night air. 

“It is impossible to describe the Béthune governess 
better,” said the bicyclist approvingly. “ Perhaps you 
slightly exaggerate her thinness, her ugliness, and her 
age, but as to being unbearable and difficult to live with 

ah! that indeed she is, I’ll answer for it! 
Yet I must admit that we get along together 
tolerably well.” 

“IT congratulate you upon it.” 

At this moment Michel stopped before the gate of 
the chateau of Précroix. 

“‘ Here we are at our goal, Mademoiselle,” he said. 
“You will pardon me for not escorting you to the cha- 
teau, I should be ashamed to present myself there in this - 
condition. Madame Béthune will excuse me for de- 
ferring my call until better weather. May I ask you 
kindly to give her the regards of Michel Trémor? ” 

This time again, the young man felt a_ curiosity to 
know what name had been written in the knight’s chapel 
by this singular little creature from beyond the sea, 





APRIE:S - LADY 29 


but there seemed to be no disposition to confide it to him, 
and Michel refrained from any question. 

“Thank you very much, sir,” said the young girl, 
cordially. 

Then she pushed the gate, which was open, bowed a 
farewell and, trundling her bicycle, began to ascend the 
very short avenue which led to the flight of steps at the 
entrance of the chateau. 

It was half past seven o’clock. 

When Trémor reached the tower of Saint-Sylvére, he 
had already forgotten the little bicyclist of the Green 
Sepulchre. As at the cross-roads of Jouvelles, memo- 
ries of a more distant past assailed him. 

Poor, and detesting poverty, Faustine Morel had 
never had but one thought, one purpose: to escape from 
the humdrum life beneath which her pride suffered. In 
view of this object, she had avoided society, she had en- 


trenched herself behind a haughty reserve, she had 


played, like a great actress, the sympathetic part of the 
young girl whose dowry was too small for her to think 
of marriage, too beautiful and too ardent not to love, 
too proud to let it be seen. Sometimes, carried away by 
her art, she had, like certain actresses, thrilled with genu- 
ine emotion, wept real tears, but the clever brain, always 
dominating this simulated sincerity of the nerves, had 
used them as a means. She had never loved Michel. 
With what artlessness the poor simpleton had entered 
the snare; what a triumph for Faustine Morel — up to 


_ the day she had found a better match. 


“She was not worthy of my regrets,” Michel re- 


_ peated to himself, “ no, she was not worthy of that great 


30 ROLES, LADY 


homage, the grief of an honest, upright heart — and 
Sets anaes 

Yet, at that very hour, after having spent months 
without giving Faustine a thought, Trémor could not 
banish the image of former days. It haunted him, ex- 
quisite, alluring, this vision which recalled treachery, 
suffering, exile, but also faith, youth, love! 

He would fain have seen Comtesse Wronska again 
like the portrait of a dead woman whom he had loved, ~ 
he would have desired to find in her the personification 
of a past that had been very dear. Now he knew the 
place, the day, and the hour when the sweet phantom 
could be evoked. 

In the tower of Saint-Sylvére, Madame Fauvel’s 
brother re-read the letter he had received, then wrote a 
few lines in reply, affectionately excusing himself for 
resisting the kind entreaty addressed to him, and gravely 
extolling the unappreciated charms of the “ dove-cote.” 
As he did not feel in a mood for jesting, he neglected to 
speak of the extravagant marriage Colette had planned; 
on the other hand, he did not fail to slip in an allusion 
to the meeting she had mentioned. Certain silences say 
too much. Madame Fauvel must not suspect the emo- 
tion her letter had caused. 

The young man gazed long and vacantly at the en- — 
velope which he had just sealed, then he buried his face 
in his hands, and remained in this attitude, perhaps to 
conceal the burning blush which mounted to his fore- 
head. 

The morning of the next day but one — Friday — 
he took the ten o’clock train. 


eS ee ee ee 


Pees 


III 


M ICHEL passed suddenly from the peaceful sweet- 
ness of Rivailler and the quiet of the tower of Saint- 
Sylvére to the fever and noise of Paris. Upon entering 
the over-heated hall of the opera house which, at that 
instant was filled with the clear notes of a symphony, 
he felt as if he were in a disagreeable and oppressive 
dream, 

The curtain had risen. The young man did not see 


— or saw so vaguely that no clear perception could be 


engraved upon his brain, the persons moving beyond the 
foot-lights — dull costumes, rustic figures, workmen or 
peasants in a rural stage setting. 

As he slipped along the rows of chairs, a voice was 
declaiming a recitative: three or four hands clasped his 
in passing; familiar faces appeared in the uniform row; 
hasty greetings, “how are yous,” which did not expect 
a reply, buzzed in his ears, and he made some of the 
absurd remarks about surrounding things which some- 
times cross the mind at the very time an intense and often 
sorrowful thought occupies it. 

As soon as he was seated, he searched the opera house 
for Madame Wronska. Madame Vernier’s box? Was 
it this one or that? — Besides, Faustine was not there. 
The orchestra was pouring forth tempests of sound 
which half drowned the voices of the singers and, in these 
sonorous roars mingled something like other voices, 


strange, despairing — Faustine was not there. Then 


31 


32 APRIL SS) LADY 


suddenly, beneath the features of a woman dressed in 
white satin at whom he was mechanically looking, a move- 
ment of the eyelashes, an expression of the lips, sud- 
denly revealed her to him with so vivid a remembrance 
that, for a second, he lost the idea of the present and his 
breath almost stopped. Oh, how entirely it was~ she, 
terribly, cruelly she herself! But it was only like a 
flash of lightning: almost instantly the stranger in 
white appeared. 

In the orchestra the flutes were singing limpidly, 
soothingly, united with the sweetest voices. 

By the side of Comtesse Wronska, the inevitable 
Madame Morel, always dignified and respectable in her 
eternal velvet livery, opened her expressionless eyes very 
wide. During the years the outlines of her face seemed 
to have grown even less marked, and Michel was re- 
minded of the old-fashioned photos, pallid and imper- 
fectly fixed, with which he used to amuse himself in his 
childhood while turning over his uncle Trémor’s albums. 
_ But the comtesse was taking up her opera glasses — 

he instantly lowered his. At the idea of being surprised 
in watching her, a feeling of shame overwhelmed him. 

A high, very pure note made him start; he raised his 
head and tried to dispel his preoccupation by listening 
to Bruneau’s Messidor; but the act was closing. 

By degrees the chairs emptied. Michel found himself 
outside of the hall, making his way through the corri- — 
dors at the side of one of his friends, a deputy of very 
positive convictions, who was explaining to him, figures 
- in hand, beneficent theories concerning the monopolisa- 
tion of alcohol. Then as he was hurrying back to his 


APRIES lox 33 


seat, Adrien Dereux, one of the young men who had 
clasped his hand when he came in, stopped him. Lean- 
ing against the door, they began to talk, and Trémor 
listened absently to the clubman’s chatter, as he had 
listened to the economical theses of the parliamentarian, 
up to the moment when Dereux asked if he had gone to 
pay his respects to Comtesse Wronska. 

** No,” replied Michel with great surprise. 

“‘ She is a splendid creature!” Dereux went on, with- 
out noticing his companion’s astonishment, and in the 
- tone he would have used in speaking of a fine race- 
horse. ‘* I was introduced to her at Montebello, at the 
_ time of the coronation, you know. That idiot of a 
comte was still alive, and she was terribly virtuous. She 
is a very clever little woman, but old Stanislas left her 
nothing at all. ‘True, while he was alive he gave her 
jewels enough for quite a pretty fortune . . .” 

He continued to dilate upon the esthetic perfections 
of Madame Wronska, then he added: 

** Ah! you know the beautiful Faustine, I was not 
GWA fs ce 

“That is, I did know, seven or eight years ago, 
Mademoiselle Morel, who at that time was a very inti- 
mate friend of my sister,” interrupted Michel, irritated. 

“Yes! Well, my dear fellow, Comtesse Wronska re- 
members this distant past, for she enquired about you 
just now, and added that she expected to see you between 
the acts.” 

** Comtesse Wronska is very kind.” 


“Isn’t she? And very beautiful . . . Ah, my 
dear fellow . . .” 


34 AILS: “LADY: 


He was starting off again with the same vehemence, but 
the crowd began to go back into the hall, and the two 
young men separated. Michel listened very attentively 
to the new act, trying to interest himself in the inco- 
herent symbolism of the drama. But his thoughts were 
constantly drawn elsewhere and he could fix them only 
at the cost of wearisome effort. When the curtain fell 
upon the fine classical gesture of the sower who, alone 
in the darkness of the night, confides to the soil the hope 
of the next harvest, the young man breathed more freely. 

This time he let the flood of spectators flow past and 
remained in his seat, watching without interest the boxes, 
most of them empty, with dim shadows moving in their 
depths. 

Madame Morel had disappeared. Faustine was turn- 
ing her back to the hall to talk with a lady sitting on 
the second platform, and a gentleman who stood lean- 
ing against the partition, with his gloves and opera 
hat in his hand. Michel felt someone touch his arm 
and saw Dereux, still smiling, with the contortion that 
deformed his cheek when his monocle was on the verge 
of falling. ; 

“ 'Trémor,” said he, ** Contesse Wronska has sent me 
for you.” 

And he added: 

** My compliments.” 

“There is no reason for them,” growled Trémor. 

He tried to smile on leaving Dereux, but his heart 
was in a vise. The whole evening had appeared atro- 
_ciously long and painful. He had come to seek a mem- 
ory, the image of a beloved past, or perhaps he had 


APRIL’S EADY, 35 


made this excuse for his unwholesome desire to see once 
more the only woman whom he had sincerely loved. But 
no matter! In Faustine, his eager eyes had not met this 
much desired reflection of former days; they had mourn- 
fully beheld the unfamiliar profile of this “* magnificent 
creature ” whose ideal beauty was sullied by the liber- 
tine admiration of the first fool. And, suffering from a 
sort of spiritual grief, Michel could yet watch himself 
suffer and laugh at himself . . . What had the 
eternal simpleton expected? 

In the corridor he met Madame Morel, who was talk- 
ing with a lady. He bowed without pausing. 

When he entered the box, a trifle pale, but sufficiently 
master of himself to permit no outward sign to betray 
his emotion, Faustine was alone, surveying the audience 
through her opera glasses. 

At the sound of the opening door she turned: 

** At last!” 

Trémor had bowed with a courteous, but very cold 
respect, 

* Monsieur Dereux told me, Madame, that you did me 
the honor to send for me.” 

He intended to imply from the beginning, perhaps a 
little brutally, that his visit was not absolutely volun- 
tary. 

Comtesse Wronska pointed with her fan to a chair 


~ near her. 


“Monsieur Dereux has reminded you of your 
duty,” she retorted lightly. ‘I have many friends in 
Paris, and all who are here to-night have welcomed 
me.” 


36 APE Ss SGA DY 


“ That is because they doubtless have more confidence 
in your memory and their own merit than I, Madame. 
I confess that I thought myself too completely forgot- 
ten to pay my respects to you. I thank you for having 
proved that I am mistaken.” 

This absolute correctness of deportment nevertheless 
permitted a certain shade of aggressiveness to appear, 
but if Trémor’s heart was throbbing almost to suffoca- 
tion, his voice did not tremble. 

Faustine looked at the young man steadily. 

** Sit down,” she said in the same tone of cordial and 
winning courtesy. 

He obeyed, and while a very slight smile hovered 
around his lips, he began to scan the hall. 

** A fine room,” he remarked, adopting the same man- 
ner. 

*‘ Superb!” carelessly assented the comtesse. 

While mentioning the well-known persons whom he 
had seen in the opera house, Marcel Prévost in the or- 
chestra, Madame Augusta Holmes in the amphitheatre, 
the Minister of the Interior in a box, and many others 
here and there, Michel gazed at the young widow. 

Yes, she was changed, greatly changed; he was no 
longer surprised that he had not instantly recognised 
her. Was she more beautiful? He did not know. She 
was different. Her bust was magnificently developed, 
though the waist, closely clasped by a jewelled belt, re- 
mained very small and supple; the milky whiteness of 
the shoulders was scarcely distinguishable from that of 
the silver embroidered satin gown which framed them 
and fell without a fold, defining the outlines of a stat- 


APRILS: LADY 37 


uesque figure ; each feature of the face was striking; the 
slight curve of the lashes, perhaps pencilled with black, 
were outlined a trifle harshly upon the low brow, shaded 
by a mass of golden hair somewhat darker than before, 
perhaps artificially reddened. But the eyes especially, 
the eyes were no longer the same. 

Faustine, too, was doubtless Denar in the manly 
countenance of the promised husband of her youth the 
traces of the years, of life, of sorrows. ‘There are hours 
when only decisive trivial words come to the lips, when 
we can say only too much or too little; there could be no 
half way between Michel Trémor and Faustine Morel, 
_ and both had tacitly comprehended it. 

Meanwhile they discussed music, talked of Messidor 
and the various lyrical efforts of Bruneau, then they 
reached Wagner, the last season at Bayreuth. Some- 
times the little bitter smile, a phantom of the past, hov- 
ered around Faustine’s lips and the fleeting expression 
contained a whole mystery of irony, perhaps the irony 
of those who, by an involuntary division of their per- 
sonalities, continually watch themselves playing the com- 
edy of life, and pity themselves for taking so much 
trouble about so trifling a thing. 

Suddenly they were silent. The conversation through 
whose polite, conventional words came a sort of aggres- 
sion, the conversation in which each was afraid to let 
the other speak, stopped. They were silent, and the 
emptiness of their words was instantly filled in their ears 
by the buzz of the great hall, the noise of a crowd which 
-is almost a silence, as the crowd itself is almost a soli- 
tude. It gave them the impression of a glacial cold. 


38 APRIL S: LADY 


Then, in a very low tone, suddenly casting aside the care- 
lessness she had just affected, Faustine faltered: 

“ How long ago it is . . .” A sentence which 
said much or very little. 

Michel wished to take it as saying very little. 

“Very long,” he repeated. ‘‘ Have you never re- 
turned to France? ” 

She went on, still in a low voice: 

* You know that — that I am a widow? ” 

“JT learned it recently, yes,” said Trémor, this time 
gravely, ‘‘ and I pitied you.” 

The little bitter smile on the red lips deepened. 

** And you,” the young woman continued; “ you have 
travelled, worked. I have read your articles in the 
Revue des Deux Mondes. Oh! you will succeed, I am 
sure — you can expect much! ” 

She seemed scarcely to be addressing Michel, and he 
contented himself with bowing without an answer. 

** You were — shocked, were you not, just now, when 
I sent for you? ” she asked abruptly. 

**T was very much astonished, Madame.” 

Another silence followed these words, then in a still 
lower tone Faustine added: 

* Yet I must tell you;— explain 

Michel hastily raised his head, and looking at the 
young widow, said: 

** Oh, I understand; let us not allude to the past.” 

The door opened, the dismal figure of Madame Morel 
appeared. Michel rose. As he was formally taking 
leave, Madame Wronska held out her hand to him, and 
while yielding to his clasp the warm delicate fingers, the 


Pe 


APRIL, SADY 39 


white blossom of flesh which had just been drawn from 
the perfumed glove, she murmured : 

“Tam at the Continental. I shall see you again, shall 
I not? ” 

But Michel’s face did not brighten. 

“Tam afraid not, Madame. [I shall return to Rivailler 
to-morrow, and shall probably remain there until my 
departure for Norway, where I shall spend the sum- 
mer,” he replied. 

And, again bowing to Madame Morel and Faustine, 
he went out. 

The act was beginning; the young man waited until 
_ the end, then he left the opera house. 

Now all excitement was dead, leaving in its place a 
great moral lassitude, which resembled the sadness of a 
deception. 

As Michel mechanically went up the Avenue de l’Opera, 
Monsieur Béthune, who was returning on foot from 
the Théatre Francais with Claude and Baron Pont- 
maury, stopped him a moment; then all four resumed 
their walk and while Pontmaury and the owner of Pré- 
croix plunged again into the financial discussion which 
this meeting had interrupted, Michel took Claude’s arm. 

Ah, this nice boy Claude, the glory of a scholastic 
group of tennis and football players, cyclist’ emeritus, 
future director of sports, was not an intellectual fellow. 
Yet he was soon going to finish his last year but one, 
and the shadow of the bachelor’s degree was waxing on 
the horizon. 'Trémor, who had not seen his little com- 
rade for some time, talked with him about the school and 
the new programmes. 


40 APRIL’S LADY 


But college, as soon as the day was over and even a 
little before its close, occupied Claude’s mind very little 
except from the standpoint of tricks to be played on 
* profs ” or ushers. Oh! then, what larks! There was 
one usher on whom they were going to play off one of 
those well-planned “ April Fool” pranks which a man 
always remembers if he jogs along to be a hundred years 
old. 

Michel listened indulgently to the details of the April 
Fool, which were more droll than malicious ; then he heard 
the story of the last match of the Velo Club, and the 
dithyrambic description of an automobile. Farewell to 
the bachelor’s degree and the programmes. 

In the presence of this fresh, healthy, exuberant youth, 
intoxicated with strength, bustle, and fresh air, Trémor 
thought of his own, so serious, so prematurely mature. 
Claude was nearly sixteen and in his robust body lived 
a still childlike soul. Michel did not remember ever 
being sixteen. At the time of obtaining the first rank 
in the university, he had considered every hour given to 
sport an hour lost; a fine enthusiasm had intoxicated 
him; he wanted to learn, to fathom, to grasp everything. 
He devoured huge books, stuffed his brain with facts 
and ideas, and grieved because absolute truth did not 
come forth from them. 

At the university, Michel, always obliging and wholly 
free from vanity, was beloved by his companions, and 
respected also, for if he was known to be capable of win- 
“ning a prize in the general competition, several jokers — 
had already discovered that he did not confine himself 
to being strong in his studies and that malicious jests 


APRIL'S LADY 41 


might not be well received. But he was very little under- 
stood. Between him and the young men among whom 
he daily sat, under the same instruction, occupied in the 
same studies, the relations were very superficial, very 
commonplace. Those of his fellow students who knew 
him best often reproached him with “ taking everything 
seriously.” 

This had really been Michel’s error; at least, he now 
thought it his duty to prove it. It was because he had 
taken his first love dream seriously that he had made it 
the sole romance of his youth; it was because he had 
taken seriously that common deception, a woman’s treach- 
ery, that he had spoiled his life; it was because he took 
everything seriously that a word so easily wounded him 
_to the heart, that a doubt so easily tortured his mind, 
and that every instant some discouragement overwhelmed 
him. Doubtless he had expected too much from truth, 
from science, from love, from life; the chimeras had 
been too beautiful, and he was not one of those whom 
inferior realities console. 

Béthune had called a carriage; they were about to 
separate. Claude took leave of his companion who, per- 
haps, had seemed a little absent-minded during the past 
few minutes. 

** I suppose you think me an idiot, eh? ” 

Michel smiled, and accompanying his reply with a 
_ friendly pat on the shoulder, said: 

** You are perfectly right; go ahead!” 

Yes, you are right, added Trémor mentally; bicycle, 
_ go boating, run races, make “ April Fools” of your 
_ ushers, sketch on your books, read the Velo and the bul- 


A2 APRIL'S LADY 


letin of the Touring Club and don’t think too much, 
don’t dream too much, don’t love too much! At thirty, 
you will perhaps be a little ashamed when you look back, 
but age will not have changed you sufficiently for such 
an adventure to happen to you often; you will console 
yourself by admiring your muscles, and you will not 
complain of life, for it will have given you what you 
asked of it. And as with this you will be a good fellow, 
an honest man, as your father will have left you ‘too 
much money for it ever to be necessary for you to enjoy. 
a certain form of sport which we call, after the English, 
the struggle for life, I don’t see, on the whole, for what 
the grumblers would have a right to reproach you. 

Michel avoided going to the Continental the next day, 
but he did not return to Rivailler. He spent the greater 
portion of the morning with Maitre Allinges, his notary, 
who was just negotiating in his name for the purchase 
of a house in the Quartier de l’Etoile, and wanted to 
talk with him about different matters, then Albert Daran 
took him by surprise, and carried him off to lunch in the 
Place de la Madeleine. 

The fate of this friend of Michel was a very singate 
one. 

When Monsieur Daran, his father, a distiller in the 
suburbs, had left France on account of bankruptcy, and 
gone with all his family to settle near Louisville, accept- 
ing the position generously offered by one of his old 
friends who had owned for several years a large dis- 
tillery, Albert had given up without too much regret 
the studies which, up to that time, he had pursued, with 
no great success, in one of the universities in Paris. 


Ee a a es a dea eel a a 


APRIL'S LADY AB 


But life in Louisville did not seem to him any more 
attractive. Occupied from morning till night, and mak- 
ing himself, after his best efforts, of no use in the firm 
where his father was employed, his sole amusement was 
to collect stamps which were furnished by his employer’s 
letters, and to rove about the country every Sunday, to 
gather and classify in his herbal the interesting speci- 
mens of the flora of Kentucky. A happy occupation! 
Thanks to his herbal and his knowledge of plants, 
Albert Daran had found one day, when possessed by the 
inspiration of genius, the formula for a new cordial, a 
delicious cordial which seemed perfumed with all the spicy 


odours of the country! Remembering his classical read- 


ings of Chateaubriand and Atala, he had christened it 
with the obscure name “ Elixir des Muscogulges ” and 
it had proved the salvation of himself and his family. 

In fact, the Elixir des Muscogulges, skilfully launched 
by the lucky inventor’s employer, made the tour of the 
globe. At first it was scarcely seen except in effigy, on 
the covers of known and unknown periodicals in the New 
and the Old World, then it was visible everywhere under 
its real form in the tinted bottle which emphasised its 
beautiful opaline color, and everywhere it triumphed. 
Like all good Americans, the young Frenchman had dis- 
covered his gold mine! 

Rehabilitated before the laws of his country, Mon- 
sieur Daran had become, at the end of several years, the 
partner of his benevolent friend, the intelligent promoter 


of the elixir, and their exploitation of the banks of the 


Ohio, was numbered among the largest in that portion of 
the United States. As for Albert, he had abandoned 


Ad APRIL’S LADY 


the struggle and, no longer troubling himself about the 
Muscogulges except to draw every year the fine income 
from the share he had retained in the Louisville business, 
returned to France. Nothing now prevented him from 
satisfying on a larger scale his persistent taste for col- 
lections and classifications. At the university Albert had 
collected match boxes; in Kentucky he had collected 
stamps and plants. His most recent mania made him 
visit all the antiquaries in France in pursuit of ecclesi- 
astical objects, priests’? vestments and altar ornaments. 
It followed many others, and doubtless would be followed 
by many more. 

The relations between Trémor and Daran dated back 


. to the distant period when one helped the other in trouble- 


some translations and difficult problems. And already 
Michel felt touched by the friendship and perhaps also 
by the enthusiastic admiration his companion showed 
him. The accidents of life had brought them nearer to 
each other. They had met unexpectedly in Egypt, at 
the museum of Boulaq. Michel had found a singular 
sweetness in the fraternal affection very simply offered, 
an affection in which the old admiration still entered, 
then gratitude, for the young paleographist, with un- 
failmg readiness, placed his knowledge of Oriental lan- 
guages and archeological questions at the disposal of the 
ignorant traveller. Great perseverance, extraordinary 
desire to understand, absolute humility before the knowl- 
edge of others, permitted Daran to utilise and develop 
very ordinary talents. A jovial good sense filled the 
place of intelligence and he possessed, in default of a — 
more thorough education, that innate tact which comes 


Le 


APRIE’S: LADY, AS 


from the heart and almost always preserves from churlish 


scorn the individuals endowed with it. Trémor loved him 
for his faithful soul, his sometimes brutal sincerity, his 
confiding goodness, his eae loyalty as man and 
friend. 

To know that there is in the world a devotion upon 
which we can absolutely rely, which we shall always find 
ready, is very comforting and infinitely sweet in all the 
hours of life, good and evil. 

Michel at least thought so, and — a strange thing — 
the dunce of the university, the inventor of the Elixir 
des Muscogulges, the artless tourist of the museum of 
Boulaq, was the only human being whom he voluntarily 
allowed to suspect anything of his inner life, the sole 
person whom he sometimes permitted to read his soul, 
sealed to all the rest of the world. 


IV 


On leaving the restaurant where they had lunched, 
the two young men went down the Rue Royale. 

It was one of those beautiful days in Paris when it 
seems as if spring is mysteriously passing into the air. 
Here it comes in the form of a young girl in a light 
gown, and yonder, invisible, among the fragrant odours 
of gillyflowers sold on the sidewalks. Flowers, flow- 
ers, flowers! They are everywhere, in the arms of chil- 
dren, at the belts of women, in the ears of the horses; 
business men carry them in their hands; porters have 
their backs loaded with them; the cook keeps in a corner 
of her basket a bouquet of fresh jonquils, and the un- 
kempt street boy holds a violet between his teeth. 

In the Champs Elysées, children are running about 
under the trees with shouts of joy, in the midst of great 
clouds of golden dust, and on the benches old people 
are warming themselves with happy faces. 

“The 30th of March already! How the days pass! 
We are in the midst of spring! ” 

Having made this original remark, Daran suddenly 
slipped his arm through Michel’s, who had not answered. - 

“T would give all my collections and even this ex- | 
traordinary monstrance of which I was just speaking, 
to see you happy, my dear Michel,” said he. 

Michel started. 

“ Happy!” he repeated, “ but why should you sup- 
pose that I am not pany ”. 


A Ne eee 


APRS LADY, A 


Daran shrugged his shoulders. 

“No; you are not happy,” he replied. ‘“ Ah! it is 
unfortunate that some worthy robber will not some day 
do you the service of stealing a fiftieth of a thousand 
pounds of income.” 

“You are delightful!” exclaimed Trémor with an 
amused smile. ‘ Do I spend my fortune foolishly? ” 

“Not at all, but if you were poor, you would not 
confine yourself to this negative wisdom; you would 
work; that is all.” 

* Do I lead the life of an idler? ” 


“No, certainly not; you work, you work — but when 


you have time. You travel, too, but you take no pleas- 


ure anywhere. I would almost prefer to see you pro- 
vided with a little place as archivist in some provincial 
city.” 

Michel laughed. 

* Ah! well, tell me, what great work do you accomplish 
yourself? ” 

“TI am only a sluggard, I confess, but with me it is 
different. I have not a brain that starts off on every 
pretext for the land of the impossible, nor a heart whose 
favourite pastime is to tear itself into bits. In short, 
I am a very commonplace fellow, incapable of anything 
great, anything useful. I am the inventor of the Elixir 
des Muscogulges! As much as saying that I am not 
anybody. You are somebody, and if you ever become 
the inventor of anything, you will be able to sign your 
work, Would not your history of the thingumbob -— 
what do you call that barbarous people? ” 

“The Hétheens.” 


A8 APRIL’S LADY 


“'That’s it. Well, are you working on your his- 
tory of the Hétheens now that, to obtain the material, 
you have made a journey to Egypt, one to Greece, and 
two to Syria? ” 

* But I really intend to work upon it, my dear Men- 
tor, and when I have returned from Norway —” 

‘I was expecting that. For you to begin anything, 
you must always return from somewhere. If you had 
no money, you would work, I tell you.” 

“Oh!” cried Michel, “ my history of the Hétheens 
wouldn’t flood me with bank notes.” 

? replied Daran obstinately. “ At any 
rate, it would cover the poor archivist with glory.” 

“ Not even that,” retorted the young man; “‘ nobody 
reads books of that sort. Ah! you want to ruin me, 


** Perhaps so,’ 


Daran. My notary is coming to conclude a money 
matter. Behold me the owner of a house.” 

** Maitre Allinges? I know him. A very honest fel- 
low, but a dreamer like yourself. Come, would it trou- 
ble you very much to be ruined? ” 

“Very much!” said Trémor, pausing to relight his 
cigar from Daran’s. 

** Let us go on, then, to the second part of my pro- 
gramme,” Daran continued. “It is more easily car- 
ried into execution. I want you to marry. Oh, ’m 
not thinking of it to-day for the first time. Hang 
these selfish bachelors!” 

“Tam going to say to you as I did just now. Why 
don’t you? ” 

“Then I shall answer as I did just now; with’ me, 
it is different. I was born an old bachelor, in the same 


APRIES: “CADDY 49 


way that I was born a collector. I have a lot of little 
fads to which I cling; I should bore my wife and, above 
all, my wife would bore me inexpressibly. But you. 
. . . ah! you!— You have no fads, but you are 
entirely lacking in the understanding of practical 
things; you go along with your nose in the air, at the 
risk of breaking your neck. What I desire for you is 
a sensible little brain that will do some thinking for 
you, and then a gentle little hand, which would cool 
your forehead when it burned as it does to-day. Oh, 
I need not touch it. I have told you that my wife 
would bore me; you would gain infinitely by being 
bored by yours. It would end in diverting your 
thoughts and keeping you from trying to fathom some 
problem that you will never solve. And you would 
worship your children. How the little chaps jump- 
ing around your legs and yelling in your ears from 
morning till night, would drive away your gloomy 
notions. I can see you now— you would take up 
again Montaigne, Fénelon, Rousseau; you would read 
all the modern books published on education, and Heaven 
knows how many they publish! This would amuse you 
for a,time, and then you would rear your children 
simply by your paternal heart and brain, and with- 
out occupying yourself overmuch about pedagogues, 
you would make men of them, real men! That would 
be worth the history of the Hétheens, I assure you.” 

Michel had only half listened; his smile was a little 
sad, a little bored. 

“You are very eloquent,” he said. “I can already 
imagine the rare bird whom you destine for me, the 


50 APRIL’S LADY 


swect and serious companion, the clever woman who is 
not pedantic, and is gay without being frivolous, etc. 
I have met that rare bird in all the novels I read when 
I was very young.” 

“JT have met her in life, myself, and so have you. 
The wife of your friend Réault, there —I would like 
a wife for you like Madame Réault. Besides, she has 
a sister. Marry Mademoiselle Chazé.” 

“My dear Albert,” said Michel more gravely, “I 
don’t deny that there might be some truth in your lec- 
ture, though it appears to me open to discussion, but 
if you knew how little I think of marrying; if you 
knew the disagreeable impression the mere name you 
have just uttered produces upon me, you would give 
up the match. Ah! these bargains by private contract 
which are negotiated daily, these introductions, these 
paltry comedies which constitute marriage in our coun- 
try! Ugh! Won’t you come up a moment, since you 
have accompanied me here? ” 

They had turned the corner of the Rue Beaujon, 
and stopped in front of the house where Michel lived. 

* With pleasure,” replied Daran. 

But this diversion did not long change the course of 
his ideas. . 

“T confess it,” he soon went on. “If there is a 
person whom I rarely imagine in the distasteful char 
acter of the young man to be married, it really is you. 
It would be better, I think, if a young girl could be 
found who was sufficiently bold, and sufficiently in love, 
to pay court to you and ask you in marriage. Yes, 
then I know you are so kind, so much afraid of causing 


APRIE’S LADY 51 


anyone the slightest pain, that when she said to you: 
‘I love you. Will you marry me?’ you would never 
have the courage to reply: ‘No.’ And you would 
be happy in spite of yourself.” 

“ Certainly — for this young girl, sufficiently bold 
and sufficiently in love, would be thoroughly bewitching. 
If you had seen Colette, I should think she had given 
you your lesson,” Trémor continued, opening the door 
of his smoking room to usher in the tormenting ser- 
moniser. ‘ She wrote the other day exactly what you 
are saying now. ‘There, sit down.” 

“ Madame Fauvel is a sensible woman.” 

“Poor Colette,” sighed Michel humorously. “ That 
compliment would seem new to her. Will you have 
cigars or cigarettes? ” 

“A cigar, if you please. And even if this compli- 
ment were new, if good sense were not habitual with 
Madame Colette, what if she had suddenly found it, 
by an inspiration of genius, in her affection for you? 
Mothers, sisters, or wives, women who love have such 
inspirations. Does your charming sister propose a 
fiancée for you?” 

** Of course.” 

“Good!” cried Daran, lighting his cigar with an 
air of satisfaction. ‘ Do I know her? ” 

This time Michel burst into a very sincere, ringing 
laugh, which transfigured his whole face. Standing 
leaning against the chimney-piece, his cigarette in his 
hand, he seemed at this moment singularly young. 

“Yes, by Jove! you do know her! Only I don’t 
know whether you remember her. It is Miss Jackson, a 


52 AL RTES. (LADY 


distant cousin, my Aunt Régine’s granddaughter. Miss 
Jackson came to Paris a few years ago to study French, 
and we dined with her, you and I, at my sister’s. You 
were at that time absorbed by your archeological studies ; 
you talked all the evening about excavations and an- 
cient ruins, and it seems that your eloquence put the 
young lady to sleep.” 

Daran laughed heartily. 

“IT remember,” he said. “ A little Anne or Jeanne 
— a blonde whose lovely mouth did not say much, but 
whose very drooping eyes and very tip-tilted nose were 
confoundly talkative. Well, this child is extremely 
pretty. You once had an affair with a precocious 
jade —” 

Without heeding Michel’s gesture of impatience, 
Daran calmly continued: 

** You once had an affair with a precocious jade, and 
that is what has disgusted you with marriage. Yet, as 
you are a fine fellow, I have never heard. you infer that 
because one base woman deceived you, the earth might be 
peopled only with traitresses. Besides, haven’t you a 
delightful sister, perhaps a madcap with a head filled 
with trifles, but a noble little woman, who would throw 
herself into the fire for her husband, her children, or 
you? To haye you marry is very simple; it only re- 
quires that a charming young girl should love you.” 

** Very simple,” murmured Michel. And he shrugged 
his shoulders. : 

“ Very simple, certainly,” repeated Daran, shrugging 
his also. “It is very nice to be modest, but don’t let 
us exaggerate.— And then, you are gloomy, you dis- 


APRIL'S. LADY 53 


trust yourself, you have had trouble, you have the air 
of a hero of romance. This is what kindles the im- 
agination of a young girl.” 

Trémor had sat down with a feeling of depression. 
The conversation was becoming painful. 

“Tt is your own imagination that kindles, and for 
the impossible, my poor friend,” he cried. ‘‘ No, I am 
not a hero, but simply a man who does not understand 
himself very well, and whom others do not understand 
at all. And it is so stupid to be misunderstood. I be- 
lieve I was born with a sick heart; someone has under- 
taken to widen the wound. Now it is healed, but the 
suffering has terribly changed me. I am not vicious; 
the troubles of others grieve me; you are right there. 
Yet I am violent, jealous, brutal. And also hard to 
live with, embittered. A hero of romance sometimes has 
the right to kill, bue never to be in a bad temper. I am 
often in a bad temper.” 

Michel walked up and down the room twice, threw 
his cigarette into the chimney-piece, and sat down again. 

At the end of a moment, Daran went on: 

** One day you explained to me what a palimpsest is. 
This insignificant memory has remained with me; you 
always make me think of a palimpsest. What is seen of 
you is not what you originally were. It would be nec- 
essary to be able to read in you another text, another 
story hidden for a long time by the one you allow 
everyone to decipher.” 

** You well know the story that would be read,” said 
Michel mournfully. 

“ Might there not be palimpsests written three times? 


54 APRIE?S LUADY 


Michel, I wish a very skilful little paleographer would 
know how to awaken in you, as you are now, not the 
man whom Faustine Morel made you, but the child you 
were and whom I knew well; the worker, the enthusiast, 
the poet, the serious youth, too serious, too shy, perhaps, 
but so kind, so tender, so trusting; the charming human 
being whose heart would have opened wide, whose intel- 
lect would have blossomed superbly, if he could have 
had the sweet, genuine affection, the calm, industrious 
life for which he longed. Ah! I assure you, with a 
little trouble and much love, he could be found, my little 
friend of former days.” 

Michel shook his head. 

** Another illusion,” he said. 

He went to a corner of the room, took from an iron- 
wood shelf a curiously wrought bottle, poured some 
Madeira into a small glass, and offered it to Daran. 

* That’s right,” said the other. “It’s not my elixir 
—on the contrary.” 

Then, as if the pleasure of tasting the very old and 
fragrant wine had suddenly given him a clearer idea 
of the harmonious charm of the things which sur- 
rounded him, he glanced around the room where Michel 
had received him so many times. 

The warm light which shone through stained glass, 
mysterious, hieratical, as if it emanated from the illu- 
minations of a missal or a book of legends, awoke the 
faded richness of the old brocades and the tarnished 
gold of frames and plate, enveloped in an atmosphere 
of the past, sumptuous and quiet, furniture which be- 
longed to an Italian style of the sixteenth century. 


7o¥ ig 99 W Bere ies By, Dag 55 


“Tt is pretty, very pretty here, my dear Michel! 
Stay, that is new, that embroidered chasuble which you 
’ have draped yonder, near those daggers. What mar- 
vellous work!” cried the collector, rising, his glass in 
his hand, to examine the gold flowers of the sacerdotal 
robe. 

Then he rejoined Michel and, standing before him, 
said: 

' “Very pretty, your ivory castle. Not an error of 
style in the details of this furniture, these little treasures 
chosen by a connoisseur. And yet, if yonder, in the 
neck of that amphora, there was a fine branch of lilacs 
and, farther away, in that cup, some fresh roses, your 
charming museum would gain something more friendly, 
more animate. Put some flowers into your life, my 
dear Michel; it is necessary.” 

Daran having gone, Michel went back to Maitre 
Allinges to sign some papers which were not ready in 
the morning, and the notary talked with him for a long 
‘time of an enterprise in which he himself had just in- 
vested some capital. 

It was a joint-stock company furnished with a con- 
siderable capital, which intended to increase the im- 
portance of French colonies and promote emigration to 
them by cultivating on a vast scale, and with the aid of 
agents and French workmen, the agricultural produc- 
tions or industrial wealth peculiar to the soil and 
climate. 

“Come, Monsieur Trémor,” the notary persisted, 
“Jet me secure you thirty shares. You will not regret, 
it, and if you should at any time, I will take them my- 


56 APRIL Ss (eA DY 


self; I have confidence. And then, this business is fine, 
is beneficent. It is not only a profitable business trans- 
action, but a work of patriotism and humanity.” 

And Maitre Allinges dilated copiously on this subject. 

Advantageous or not, certain or risky as to the result, 
speculation had never attracted Michel. He loved 
money only for what it bestowed, and financial questions 
wearied him. 

The fortune which Colette and he had received from 
their guardian’s hands, and that which had come to - 
them later at the death of Monsieur Louis Trémor, was 
found to be almost exclusively invested in stock of the 
Metropolitan Bank of Discount. Their father for 
several years, their uncle during a good quarter of a 
century, had been members of the board of directors of 
this important financial establishment and gradually, by 
the force of circumstances, all their funds became placed 
in it. 

Colette’s husband having the folly, or the wisdom — 
as one takes it — to like investments in houses and land, 
Monsieur and Madame Fauvel had quickly decided to 
realise on the share which had fallen to them, but 
Michel, attracted by the advantages of security and 
peace of mind of a very commonplace investment, the 
investment of a good father of a family, as Maitre Al- 
linges said, had prudently kept his. Only two or three 
times, since the death of his Uncle Louis, had he been per- 
suaded by the enthusiastic notary, who never stopped 
proposing profitable things, to sell a certain quantity of 
stock. Very recently, one of these rare concessions had 
been for the purpose of the purchase of an unfurnished 


APRIL'S “EADY 57 


house in the Rue des Belles-Feuilles, which had just been 
completed. 

“You are insatiable, my dear friend,” declared 
Trémor, when Maitre Allinges had finished his account 
of the “ Colonizer.” 

But he smiled. If the financial combination upon 
which the enterprise the notary had just summed up 
was based could only find him cold or indifferent, the 
essential idea could not fail to attract him from the 
moral and political point of view. 

Besides, Trémor, especially to-day, was given to ex- 
cusing generous extravagances. So he yielded once 
- more, and asked Maitre Allinges to subscribe in his name 
for thirty shares of the “ Colonizer,” then leaving the 
office, he went to Durand-Ruel’s to see some drawings 
by Puvis de Chavannes, returned to the Rue Beaujon, 
glanced over the evening papers, wrote a letter of recom- 
mendation for a poor fellow, added some delicately dis- 
guised assistance, and toward seven o’clock, determined 
to ask that very evening the hospitality of Jacques 
Réault, one of his schoolmates, now attached to the 
Ministry of Foreign Affairs, an intelligent, warm- 
hearted fellow, to whom he was bound by ties of friend- 
ship, and who had just married Thérése Chazé, a friend 
of Colette. It was said to be a scarcely prudent love 
match, for Jacques had not much property, and the for- 
tune of Thérése was one of those dowries that make 
matchmakers smile. 

In the cab that carried him to the Rue des Ternes, 
where the newly-wedded couple lived, Michel thought 
once more of yesterday evening, jeering at himself for 


58 FU et Gl Byrne a O96 UD eg 


the artlessness of which he had always given proof, in 
his relations with Faustine. What illusions did he still 
retain the evening before concerning this strange woman, 
who had a head instead of a heart? Cold, impassive, 
absolute mistress of her moral and her physical being, 
Faustine knew how to feign the sincerity of regret as 
well as the sincerity of love. 

** She is terribly virtuous,” Adrien Dereux had said. 

Involuntarily Michel thought that this virtue without 
integrity had indeed become terrible, like this soulless 
beauty. Poor skilful actress! Was she reduced to the 
piteous resignation of the heron of the fable? 

Comte Wronski has died intestate; I have nothing, or 
almost nothing; true, I am still beautiful enough to be 
married without fortune, but disinterestedness is rare in 
the modern world. What if I should marry Trémor? 
He is young, and no fool. Perhaps I might make some- 
thing of him — a member of the Institute, who knows? 
And it would be easy for me to wheedle him a second 
time. This Don Quixote, if he has not been turned 
from me, will believe everything I deign to tell him, 
if I know how to manage, bring tears into my eyes, 
make my hand tremble, and pronounce with art that 
expressive word: the past! 

Yes, certainly Faustine Wronska was a woman to 
reason in this way. 

And those tearful eyes, that quiver of a hand were the , 
consolation Michel had come to seek. What a pity! 


As 


Tn welcome of Monsieur and Madame Réault was 
cordial, even affectionate. Michel had forgotten Da- 
ran’s advice and, during the evening, scarcely noticed 
Simone Chazé, the sister of Thérése, a child of sixteen, 
who sat sewing beneath the lamp, graceful and quiet, 
with her long lashes lowered, but unconsciously he was 
imbued by the charm of this little brand new home. He 
looked with interest at the simple furniture and soft 
colours to which the light silk shade gave a rose-hued 
tint; he smiled at Jacques Réault, who seemed so in- 
genuously proud of his wife, though her sole beauty 
was immense eyes and the figure of a well-formed 
Parisian. ; 

Daran was right ; flowers embellish and perfume every- 
thing. There were flowers in the little close room, 
warm to the heart and the eyes. 

The young man thought sorrowfully of the Réaults’ 
pleasant home when on the following day, by one of 
the early trains, he reached his hermitage in the tower of 
Saint-Sylvére. Yet he loved his strange dove-cote, 
~ loved it, though he had passed sad hours there, or per- 
haps on that very account. 

Still standing proudly mournful in its solitude, like 
the last champion of a lost cause, the old donjon emerged 
from the shade of a little leafy park, separated from the 
_ woods by a fence, in which grew, under the trees and in 


the open air, the grass of the fields and forests, the 
59 


60 APRIL’S LADY 


flowering grass that no roller levels and which the sun 
embalms when the scythes have cut it. 

Colette had often teased Michel about his fancy for 
climbing plants. “ Little creatures that want to rise 
above the level of everyone else, which mount, mount, 
mount, always, and when forced to stop before reaching 
the moon and stars are grieved to the point of awaking 
in tears every morning. ‘That is what pleases you, oh, 
most symbolising of brothers.” 

And it was a fact that climbing plants abounded in the 
tower of Saint-Sylvére; in the summer, the grey walls 
of the building and the brown trunks of the trees bloomed 
into an exquisite flowering of honeysuckles, wistaria, 
jasmines and roses, roses especially, and all day long 
there was a sleepy concert of bees drunk with pollen. 

But, in the early spring, the rose bushes were scarcely 
commencing to bud, the wistaria was clinging to the 
stones with dry stems that seemed sapless, and the tower 
of Saint-Sylvére appeared to be welcoming only the 
swallows, because they were building or finding old nests 
there. 

At the moment of entering the doorway, Michel had 
seen some of them flying about and pursuing each other 
against the rosy sky, and he asked himself whether these 
faithful inhabitants of his roof would never bring him 
the happiness of which they were said to be the harbin- 
gers. . He was tired of Paris, of the noise, the crowd, 
and yet the fever of these last days, the phantom of the 
past which had suddenly appeared in the midst of 
the commonplaces of the present hour, made his stay 
in the tower of Saint-Sylvére gloomy. 


AERIE:S “LADY 61 


The evenings were still cold. Huge logs, piled upon 
the wrought-iron andirons, were burning, crackling in 
the chimney piece whose entablature, emblazoned with 
the arms of the ancient lords of Saint-Sylvére, rose al- 
most to the top of the walls of the study. The furniture 
of this apartment, like all that Trémor had collected in 
the tower of Saint-Sylvére, belonged to an ancient Nor- 
man style. By the flickering light of the fire the ward- 
robes, the sideboards, the rudely-carved oak chairs on 
which sometimes, amid the freaks of an artless and 
elaborately-wrought decoration, grinned some face of a 
chimera, seemed to have escaped from a sombre drawing 
of Gustave Doré; the books and papers heaped upon 
the shelves in a sacred disorder assumed the appearance 
of archives ; the very old picture of a White Lady of the 
time of Queen Ysabeau, evoked the vision of a some- 
what stiffly-attired chatelaine, who might have come to 
sit beside the hearth, near the wheel which for centuries 
had forgotten the delicate touch of a skilful spinner’s 
fingers; the elaborate archaism of the tapestries was 
oddly emphasised, and still more extravagant appeared 
on the green background the outlines of animals or 
heraldic flowers, still more stiff the profiles of figures 
awkwardly grouped. 

The hands of the wall clock had stopped; the daily 
work of the servants kept them on the lower story; 
neither the ticking of the pendulum, nor the rattling of 
glasses, nor the sound of footsteps disturbed the sudden, 
fantastic life of these familiar things. Michel fancied 
he heard the slow work of the worms in the ancient furni- 
ture. 


62 APRIL’S LADY 


The young man absently read a new novel he had 
bought in passing through the station, and felt himself 
alone, alone to the point of wondering why he had never 
had a dog, whose faithful gaze, full of the great mystery 
of incomplete or unfinished souls, would have sometimes 
sought his own. 

His whole mind turned toward a change of horizon. 
He was tempted to cheat his impatience, to fly, to find 
at Cannes the charming affection of Colette, the cordial 
welcome of his brother-in-law, the caresses of his niece 
and nephew, but he was afraid of meeting Paris on the 
shores of the Mediterranean. 

Michel did not remember having experienced at any 
period of his life such a feeling of desertion. After his 
rupture with Faustine, he had deadened his despair in 
a feverish life, then he had travelled, discovered in the 
actual sight of the countries to which his mind had often 
wandered, enjoyment which the persistent feeling of 
the recent deception could not stifle. Now he was tired 
of these nomad habits ; the world which he had not wholly 
traversed seemed to him so small and so little varied. 

Then, as the proverb artlessly says, “ Misery loves — 
company.” It is rare that in the midst of a great sor- 
row we feel too much alone. ‘To Michel the great sorrow 
had gradually lessened, When it wholly vanished, noth- 
ing replaced it in the heart which it had occupied so 
long. And lo! even the charm of the past disappeared 
like the rest. And nothing had palliated the bitterness 
of this last disenchantment.. 

There remained the possible hope of the joys of work, 
a work to which we devote ourselves. But if labour is 


x 


APRIL'S “LADY 63 


not stimulated by the necessity for securing the daily 
bread, it must be by the desire to satisfy an ambition, 
to realise an ideal of beauty, or to attain a useful end. 
Now Michel had doubts concerning his right to execute 
the work he had elaborated. Did his history of the 
Hétheens deserve to be written as he had conceived it 
from the documents which he had collected, a people 
whose mysterious fate had attracted his imagination, and 
whose traces he had patiently sought amid the dust of 
a vanished world, pursuing them through Egypt, 
Syria, Occidental Asia, finding them again in Europe 
confounded with those of the famous and obscure 
Pelasgians, who glide like vague shadows through the 
midst of the most ancient memories? 

To write articles for newspapers and magazines, or a 
novel, is only to aspire to amuse for a moment a few idle 
people after having entertained one’s self; to write a 
book which deserves the name, and especially a history, 
is to declare one’s self capable of contributing in a cer- 
tain degree to the edification of human knowledge from 
the standpoint of facts or their interpretation. Such 
was the positive theory of Michel and, as his solitary 
life had somewhat warped or overheated his ideas, he 
saw in such a desire an unduly presumptuous pride, in- 
stead of admiring in it the effort of a great courage 
which may be humble. 

An agreeable woman of the eighteenth century has said 
that modesty is a languor of the mind. There might 
_be some danger in taking this thought as a general truth; 
it would be favouring vanity with one pretext more; yet 
it is certain that an exaggerated self-distrust checks or 


64 APRIE’S LADY 


chills every enthusiastic dash toward an ideal goal and 
often causes people to believe themselves incapable of 
bringing to a satisfactory end any given task, because 
they unconsciously dread having to put forth the amount 
of effort that would be required not only for its accom- 
plishment, but even the attempt. 

Trémor, however, felt that a calm and stable existence 
might have invited him to make the trial, but though 
he should no longer find the gratification of former days 
in distant peregrinations, he did not know how to resolve 
to give them up. 

On this evening of peevish meditation, Daran’s ob- 
jurgations returned to his memory. 

He had desired this charming life with a tenderly be- 
loved woman and because he had longed for it too much, 
because he had once been deceived, he forbade himself 
to hope, fearing to encounter the parody after having 
created the ideal. 

His ardent youth had dreamed of a love very pas- 
sionate and very pure and yet, with all his sentimental 
life, his luckless love for Faustine was the only one which 
would have corresponded with this dream, as Faustine 
was the only woman whose image he-could again evoke 
without awakening in himself the sadness or the disgust 
of delusive memories. When he was ignorant of life, 
falsehood, vanity, he had loved this young girl because 
she was beautiful and he believed her to be good and sin- 
cere, and yet it was from her that he had received the 
harsh lesson. She had sacrificed the man who loved her 
to the meanest of passions; she had revealed to him the 
savage sharpness of selfish calculations and, brutally, © 


APRIL?S: LADY 65 


having nothing more to make out of his love and his 
credulity, had cast him off into life. 

It was not in Michel Trémor’s nature to fall into the 
exaggerations of pessimism, besides, he had guarded 
himself from too hasty generalisations and had left to 
Faustine the whole responsibility for her duplicity and 
treachery; only he had thought that certain accidents 
destroy an existence as others save it, and he was in 
despair over having been born under so unlucky a star. 
Perhaps — ever ready for self-distrust — he had told 
himself that the misfortune might be partly his own 
fault because, in order to win love, we must be lovable. 
And he felt that all passion was dead in his heart. The 
man whom he had become could no longer be enamoured 
of anything except the beautiful in art and nature, the 
good in life; he would never love again. 

The worms continued their hidden work, and the fire 
died down. The forms of the warriors on the tapestry, 
and the fixed smile of the chatelaine, no longer appeared 
except when the flames flashed up. 

Michel thought of the Réaults’ pretty home, the quiet 
intimacy which constituted its charm, the children who 
would some day gladden it, and he envied the life which 
began in this peace and sweetness. 

Children! He had always worshipped children, and 
always been worshipped by them. Ah! how he would 
have devoted his whole heart and mind to the task of 
rearing those who would have been flesh of his flesh. 
For their sakes how much better he would have made 
himself, more indulgent, more active in combating the 
violent impulses of a nature whose unity had been 


66 APRIL?S LADY 


changed by too long periods of isolation! With what 
solicitude he would have watched them, encouraging 
them to be open-hearted, inviting their confidence, ac- 
customing them to absolute trust, and using this trust 
to develop in their souls all the powers of loving, every 
generous feeling, to cultivate their growing intelligence. 
He would have answered their questions with unfailing” 
patience; he would have taught them himself, but he 
would have encouraged their sports in the open air, their 
happy merry laughs, their desire for movement and 
‘noise. And he would have loved them dearly; their 
kisses, their careless joy would have brightened the 
dark hours. Michel laughed at himself for a great gush 
of instinctive tenderness which rose from his heart for 
these shadows of his reverie. 

For an instant the idea crossed his mind of adopting 
a child, one of the sons of a friend who had no fortune. 
But what would be the use? Never would he, the bene- 
factor, the improvised father, reign over the heart of 
this child; never would he feel himself the master of this 
existence which he would not have created, which would 
belong. to him only by virtue of a human contract. And 
in anticipation, jealousy murmured within him. 

Another weakness of his suffering and imperfect na- 
ture! He was jealous; the “ green-eyed monster” had 
often tortured him. Through association of ideas, 
Michel remembered the far-off time when he had de- 
voured the tears which only pride prevented his shedding, 
because Colette had said to a girl friend, “ I love you as 
much as I do my brother.” He recalled the days that 
had preceded and followed Faustine’s marriage, the de- 


ee a ee ee ee ee 


APRIL’S LADY 67 


spair, the fits of rage, the longing to murder which ex- 
cited him to frenzy. 

He thought, “ I was made to suffer and to cause suf- 
ering. It is better that I should have lived alone.” 

Before going into the summer-house which she oc- 
cupied, Jacotte, the gardener’s wife, who filled the posi- 
tion of cook, came to offer Michel a cup of lime-flower 
tea. At first he refused, then he allowed her to give 
him the fragrant infusion, and mechanically stirring it 
with the little silver spoon, he asked a few questions, en- 
quired for her old mother who kept a tavern in Rivailler ; 
her son, who had gone away to school in the autumn. 


He needed to talk, to hear some voice. And Jacotte, 


who was loquacious, not confining herself to answers, 
told interminable stories, in which the rabbits, the 
chickens, the garden, and Tristan, Michel’s horse, played 
an important part. Her tone, in speaking of everything 
that lived and grew at the tower of Saint-Sylvére, was 
something like the one she used in saying, ‘‘ My son.” 

* Good night and pleasant dreams, sir,” she concluded, 
going away with a vigorous tread that made the tea- 
pot and the china cup rattle on the waiter. 

The young man went to sleep in his big, old-fashioned 
bed. By a resemblance that amused him, the worthy 
woman’s cordial chatter had suddenly reminded him of 
his friend Albert’s flowing speeches. 

Every year Daran hired a little house at Rivailler. 
Michel thought that the good fellow would soon be there, 
and he suddenly felt a serene joy. 

The next morning, roused by a sunbeam which shone 
through the leaden-cased frames, he made some heroic 


68 APRS LADY. 


resolutions. He threw the windows wide open, admitted 
to his study the light and fragrance of the outside world, 
then he outlined the formidable classification of the 
documents which he had collected for his Essay of a 
History of the Hétheens. But, towards evening, several 
letters were brought in, one of which caused him positive 
bewilderment, followed by sharp displeasure. 

Written in an unknown feminine hand, it was dated 
thus; Précroix, April 2nd, 190—, and couched in the 
following terms: 


Sere 

** Your letter of yesterday has greatly astonished me. 
We know each other so slightly! Yet it is true that 
we were not born to remain strangers to each other and, 
from what I know of you, your character, and what I 
have seen of society in your country, I should be very 
ungracious if I were not flattered by your offer and the 
sacrifice you are making of your national prejudices. 
Even admitting that this particular case presents some 
extenuating circumstances in my favour, I am not 
ignorant that a Frenchman of your world gives proof 
of a certain degree of courage in marrying a governess 
’ whom this circle has known in this position. . 

“Perhaps I ought to ask you to allow me time for 
reflection, perhaps you will find in my prompt and almost 
final reply a lack of reserve, of feminine dignity. Yet 
you have understood that I am a little unlike your 
countrywomen since, neglecting to apply to Madame 
Béthune’s intervention, you have addressed yourself 
directly to me. So I will act with as much frankness 


> ls a mae 


APRIL'S: LADY 69 


and plainness as you yourself have done. I will accept 
your proposal to be your wife. 

*¢ And now, my dear Michel — it is perfectly natural 
that I should call you so, is it not? —it seems to me 
that I should have a thousand things to say to you, about 
yourself, myself, your lovely sister. Just think, I sus- 
pected nothing, nothing at all! How well you have 
hidden your game! 

* But your letter is dated from Paris, and I do not 
know whether you have since returned to the tower of 
Saint-Sylvére, to which I am addressing mine. As soon 


_ as you arrive, come to Précroix, I beg you, and we will 


talk together. Only then shall I be able to consider you 
quite my engaged husband. 

“TI know that French good breeding is very ceremo- 
nious, but I do not fully grasp its formulas, so please 
receive with indulgence the expression of my kindest 
regards. 

“S. SEVERN.” 


Michel almost asked himself if he were not the sport 
of an illusion caused by the obsession of the counsels of 
Daran and the plans of Colette. 

Chateau de Précroix — a foreigner, a teacher — the 
Béthunes’ teacher — S. Severn — 

** Sarah!” he cried, “ Miss Sarah! The governess, 
that sentimental old maid! Who could have plotted 
this stupid joke and written such a letter? ” 

But he reread the letter carefully and since it was 
written simply, in good French, without any romantic 
affectation, he might conclude that it was not to be at- 


70 APRS “LADY 


tributed to a hoaxer, who would not have failed to insert 
the most sentimentdl tirades, to accumulate the most 
poetical epithets, and to scatter through it the most 
grotesque Anglicisms. The tone, on the contrary, was 
frank, serious, sensible. A letter of this sort had been 
written without the slightest intention of being droll; 
nay, even when thinking of the old maid’s age and 
absurdities, the “‘ we were not born to remain strangers 
to each other,” a delicate reminiscence of the theory of 
sister souls, the fear expressed of seeming over bold, the 
allusions to a very doubtful youth which artlessly apolo- 
gised for not taking alarm, the somewhat unduly prompt 
“my dear Michel,” scarcely provoked a smile. 

As for the deliciously candid “ I suspected nothing at 
all; how well you have hidden your game! ” the hoaxer 
would have replaced by a phrase of this sort, “ I scarcely 
dared to believe myself loved!” or, “I forbade myself 
to see in your attentions anything save compassion,” a 
reminder of the somewhat tiresome teasing in which 
Madame Béthune and her son had found pleasure the 
year before, after the evening when Michel, sympathising 
with the solitary, had sat down beside Miss Sarah, and 
talked with her agreeably about the pleasant weather oe 
education in America. 

After reflection, doubt was difficult. The letter which 
had just reached the tower of Saint-Sylvére was really 
the result of a bad joke, but it could not be the direct — 
work of a spiteful wag. The poor governess had writ- 
ten it herself in her best and clearest style; she had 
answered without suspicion an offer which she had 


APRIT:S. LADY. 71 


actually. received. While Michel was recalling the old 
teasing of his friends at Précroix, he also remembered the 
more recent mischievous plans of Claude. Delighted 
with his practical jokes upon the usher who was to be 
humbugged, and knowing that Michel’s handwriting 
was easily imitated, the student had thought it amusing 
to extend the field of his operations and to address an 
“ April Fool” to poor Miss Sarah, who had taken the 
matter seriously and read the amazing missive without 
noticing the fatal date. 

Offended at having been mixed up in this ridiculous 
business, and full of pity for the unfortunate woman 


whom Claude’s thoughtless trick affected more closely 


than it did himself, Michel was on the point of going 
to Précroix, giving Madame Béthune the letter he had 
just received, and informing against the future college 
graduate. Then he considered that Madame Béthune 
would tell her husband and the latter who, when carried 
away by anger, measured neither his words nor his acts, 
might perhaps inflict upon Claude too harsh, and espe- 
cially too brutal a punishment. The wisest and most 
humane plan was to lecture Claude privately, telling him 
to address a letter of explanation and apology to Miss 
Sarah. Michel decided to write to his young friend the 
next morning; Béthune, who was going to Chantilly, 
would know nothing about the matter, and the incident 


_ would close without too much in jury. 


For an instant Michel amused himself at the thought 
of how Daran and Colette would have looked on re- 
ceiving the triumphant news of his engagement to Miss 


72 APRIL'S LADY 


Sarah! Then he forgot Claude and his mischievous 
trick, went down into the little park, walked under the 
trees, breathed the air of the woods, and found pleasure 
in noting the growth of his precious plants — which 
were trying to “ mount to the stars.” 


os 


VI 
M ICHEL of course gave up the plan formed the 


night before of going to Précroix. On no account 
would he have risked finding himself in close quarters 
with his happy and timid fiancée. The bare thought of 
the significant smile with which she would not have failed 
to greet him, made him shudder. 

Strolling across the country he went to Rivailler, 
where he had to inspect a cottage which Jacques Réault 
wanted for the summer months. 

The various entertainments in honour of the patron 
saint crowded the village. Michel took in his way the 
harness maker Camus, owner of the Villa des Saules, and 
explained the object of his visit. The cunning peasant, 
aided by his still more crafty wife, wasted in circum- 
locution, prudent withdrawals, and propositions more 
prudent still, ten full minutes of a quarter of an hour’s 
conversation, but an understanding was finally reached, 
and Michel, leaving him, inhaled the outdoor air with 
delight. On both sides of the main street people were 
standing in front of booths ornamented with various 
glass trinkets. On the square the festival was in full 
swing. Deafened by the music of the wooden horses, 
the cries of the pedlars, the firing, Trémor patiently 
worked his way through the crowd. Before a pastry 
cook’s shop, half a dozen little ones with dirty faces 


and ragged clothes were looking enviously at the 
73 


74 APRIL'S LADY 


macaroons which the luckier children of a Rivailler 
farmer were winning at every shot, and instantly crunch- 
ing. 

The young man felt sorry for these juvenile outcasts 
of the festival. One, the tallest, was explaining how 
the machine worked, and that a needle showed the number 
of macaroons won. He had eaten them himself, twice, 
and he knew they “smelt of almonds” and “ melt in 
your stomach.” The others listened wondering, with 
their fingers in their mouths. 

* Poor little chaps!” thought Michel, and went up 
to them. 

“Come,” said he, “each of you shoot three times; 
gently, without fighting,” he added to moderate the en- 
thusiasm which was already appearing. 

The young savages had no idea of thanking their 
benefactor. Yet the tall one who so well understood 
the mechanism of lotteries and the taste of macaroons 
had remained behind. Standing bolt upright before 
Trémor he took off his woollen cap, and with sparkling 
eyes, exclaimed boldly: 

“Well, you’re a good kind of a swell, after all.” 
And off he went to join the others. 

While Michel, amused by the compliment, was paying 
for the eighteen shots, someone touched him on the 
shoulder with the handle of a sunshade. 

“Well, young man! So you are treating the chil- 
dren? J thought you were in Paris,” said a voice 
marked by a very characteristic American accent. 

Michel turned and saw a tall, fair young woman. 
Radiant with blooming strength in her spring costume, 


APRIL'S “LADY. 75 


she led by the hand two little girls, healthy and smil- 
ing like herself. 

On the other side of the street a group of socicty folk 
were practising the cross-bow amid laughter and ex- 
clamations. Trémor would never have thought that so 
numerous and fashionable a party could have been as- 
sembled at Rivailler the first of April. May Béthune 
would have invented social relations in the Sahara, and 
transformed into flirts the rocks of the Cordilleras. 

Béthune had married her for her large dowry, and 
no one had ever exactly understood why she had wedded 
Béthune. He struggled on the Bourse to make money, 
- she in society for success, and they met so rarely that 
they agreed wonderfully well. 

May delighted in finery, gossip, and extravagance, 
but her frankness, her gaiety, her naturalness, pleased 
Michel who, while regretting that Colette, already so 
superficial, was so intimate with the most foolish and 
frivolous of women, was a very sincere friend of the 
beautiful American. 

“I have just arrived, dear Madame,” said Michel in 
reply to the little reproach tacitly implied. 

And having pressed the hand extended to him, he 
kissed the little girls. 

* You must tell me a story,” said Maud. 

* And you must draw me a wolf,” said Claire. 

“Two stories and two wolves,’ promised Trémor, 
laughing. 

Then, addressing the mother: 

*T have heard through Colette that you are under- 
taking enormous improvements at Précroix.” 


76 ARATE So 1A DY 


Placing her tortoise-shell folding eyeglass on her 
nose, May Béthune surveyed the young man a moment, 
with a significant smile upon her lips. 

“ And I,” she retorted in a low tone, * have learned 
through someone else a very surprising bit of news.” 

Michel, astonished, questioned her with his eyes. 

“So, with you, we must always anticipate the un- 
expected,” she went on. ‘* You are a man of surprises. 
Still I don’t exactly understand this American style of 
betrothal. Colette is delighted, isn’t she? ” 

She spoke with her usual volubility, yet a very slight 
pause suddenly permitted her to notice the bewilderment 
on Trémor’s face, and she interrupted herself. 

*‘'The news was told me under the seal of secrecy; 
your letter was not shown me; don’t be troubled; I 
haven’t mentioned it to a living soul,” she said gaily. 

Then pointing to her flying squadron: 

*“* Go and tell her some implied compliment,” she said; 
* it will be a great charm in this crowd.” . 

* But, Madame —” Michel tried to protest. 

“ Go, go, I won’t keep you. Susy, Susy —” 

At the name a young girl turned and took several 
steps away from the group of archers. Michel saw a 
flushed, smiling face, prettily framed in the very high 
collar of a cloth cape, and recognised the bicyclist of the 
Green Sepulchre. 

Very femininely attired this time in a black velvet 
toque and a light grey dress, the long folds of whose 
skirt fell softly to her ankles, she seemed to Michel less 
childish, taller, and much prettier than in the masculine 
sporting costume. Almost instantly the young girl met 


APRIL?S LADY 77 


the gaze of her last week’s guide, and a very fleeting 
blush crimsoned her complexion. 

As for Michel, the most detestable image would have 
terrified him less than this juvenile apparition. For an 
instant he was bewildered. Was Claude’s victim, the 
April Fool fiancée, this young girl? What could he 
say? What could he do? How was he to disclose to 
this poor child in a public place, the absurd plot whose 
sport she had become? At last, feeling that he must say 
something, no matter how foolish, Michel managed to 
utter in an almost natural tone this phrase alluding to 
the adventure at the Green Sepulchre, without cither con- 
firming or denying the assertions of Madame Béthune. 

* You have not yet had any news from the knight, 
Mademoiselle? ” 

The smile in the young girl’s eyes spread joyously over 
- her whole face. 

“Why, yes,” she replied, looking frankly at Michel, 
while little Maud rushed at her and with a shout of 
laughter threw both arms around her waist. 

Madame Béthune had come up. 

** You will be expected at Précroix to-morrow morning, 
Mr. Savage!” | 

Michel answered by a mechanical smile which might in 
case of necessity pass for acquiescence, then saying that 
-he must write an important letter before mail time, made 
his escape. 

He returned home in a state of mental confusion im- 
possible to describe, but he had no time to devote to con- 
jectures concerning the new and disastrous complications 
of Claude’s mischievousness. A letter from Colette 


78 APIO. >: LADY: 


awaited him which gave the clue to the enigma in a tone 
whose delight exasperated his distress. 

** Brother dear, you are a naughty sly boots! Your 
adventure at the Green Sepulchre is delicious! But do 
you know through whom I heard of it to-day, and who 
was the heroine? Really, I can scarcely believe that 
you have both changed sufficiently not to recognise each 
other. I am wondering whether without knowing it, 
you two were not playing the same game, since when she 
at last discovered your name, the little maid would not 
tell you her own. Certainly I could desire no prettier 
frame to my brother’s interview with my little Zanne, 
and it would now appear frightfully commonplace to 
present Monsieur Michel Trémor to Miss Suzanne Sey- 
ern-Jackson (Severn is the name of her adopted father) 
in an ordinary drawing-room. 

* Poor little girl! I was very glad to see by her letter 
that she is at Précroix with May Béthune, who spoils and 
pets her as I would myself. I am almost horrid enough 
to congratulate myself that Miss Stevens should have 
been ill enough to have a secretary become useless and a 
nurse necessary. All these things were to happen. Miss 
Sarah had to irritate May all winter and Miss Stevens 
take to her bed in the spring for my gentle cousin, 
Maud and Claire’s governess, to meet one rainy day, in 
the woods of Rivailler, the lord of the dove-cot of Saint- 
Sylvére? 

** Write to me soon; I am in a hurry to learn through 
you the romance of the Green Sepulchre. 

** Robert thinks we shall leave Cannes towards the 
18th of this month and reach Castelflore before the first 


APRIL'S LADY 79 


of May — just at the time, alas! when the Béthunes will 
go to Florence and my brother will bury himself in the 
fogs of the fiords, to return to us in the guise of a Scald, 
or still worse, an Ibsen thinker! Wicked savage, but I 
love you all the same. 

“SVYour: -CoLetar: 


Michel folded the letter in four pieces, tore it up and 
tossed the scraps into the fireplace. The Béthunes’ gov- 
erness was no longer Miss Sarah, but Miss Severn, and 
Miss Severn was the bicyclist of the Green Sepulchre, 
the granddaughter of Aunt Régine, the young cousin 
whom Colette still called by her childhood name, little 
Zanne who, at fifteen, fell asleep so peacefully at des- 
sert. It really did seem as if trivial incidents had com- 
bined to lead to the same result, but Michel was far 
from facing the effect of so many causes with the same 
serenity as his sister. A fatality had led him into the 
’ snare — the question was to escape from it. 

Though enlightening one obscure point, Colette’s 
letter gave the young man no aid in unravelling to his 
own satisfaction a ridiculous situation. The plan of 
writing to Claude became impracticable. The mission 
of undeceiving the principal victim of the imprudent jest 
was now of too delicate a nature for it to be wise to 
entrust it to the culprit. The most sensible plan was 
still to tell Madame Béthune everything and leave it to 
her woman’s tact. 

All his compassion centred around the little stranger 
cousin. Simply, without hesitation, she had deigned to 
bestow her beautiful youth upon the man by whom she 


80 APRIL’S LADY 


believed herself beloved, and he was going to say 
brutally: “ You accept me, who am gloomy, disagree- 
able, disgusted with a number of things; but I refuse 
you, who are the embodiment of beauty, hope, and joy.” 

Poor child! She had already suffered, deprived suc- 
cessively of her relatives, her grandmother, her uncle, all 
the natural protectors of her weakness and inexperience ; 
but at twenty we rarely lose confidence in life, fear it, or 
do not expect from it some delicious surprise. And 
undoubtedly, little Zanne was smiling at the future, not 
imagining that any one could ever answer with a stern 
glance that glowing smile. Michel would change this 
happy confidence to shame, and flying from her be- 
trothed husband of a day, perhaps the poor little gov- 
erness might leave the kindly household where she had 
been welcomed. Master Claude’s jest was becoming a 
tragedy. 

Michel again took up Miss Severn’s letter. 

No, surely Michel Trémor and Régine Brook’s grand- 
daughter were not born to remain strangers to each 
other, and it would have been quite natural that this 
big cousin should become the support of the poor little 
relative who was alone in the wide world. 

Suzanne was pleased because Michel forgot that she 
had earned her living, or did not blush for it as many 
others would have done. She was surprised that he had 
hidden his game so well. She thought he had taken 
pleasure in feigning ignorance. In truth, if Michel had 
not recognised his cousin that day, would he have ad- 
dressed to her a short time after an offer of marriage? 

At the end of her letter, wearied of the word “ Mon- 


APRIL'S. EADY. 81 


sieur,” she said, “ My dear Michel” to her grand- 
mother’s nephew. 

Finally, as if some fear had embarrassed her lest she 
might have appeared too unlike young French girls, 
she sought a very correct formula in closing. 

Michel laughed at himself for having attributed to 
Miss Sarah this thoroughly juvenile letter. He accused 
himself, he accused Claude, he even accused Colette, who 
must have transformed her brother into a paladin to pre- 
sent to Suzanne’s imagination. 

Then his thoughts wandered into another course. 
Miss Severn, alone, poor or nearly so, sought for a 
fortune and a position in society; she had grasped her 
first opportunity. In this case the young girl’s humilia- 
tion had no reason to sadden Mademoiselle Morel’s 
former lover; on- the contrary, it avenged him. Michel 
even tried to take pleasure in this idea; but it was in 
absolute contradiction to the generosity of his nature, 
and he abandoned it to laugh very bitterly at the fool- 
ish figure he was going to cut the next day in the pres- 
ence of Madame Béthune. 

Just as he left the table Albert Daran dropped from 
the skies, and he uttered a sigh of relief. Dragging the 
newcomer into his tapestried chamber, he mournfully 
told him the strange story, but its effect was unexpected. 
Daran roared with laughter till he was out of breath. 

** Capital,” he cried, “ we agreed that the part of a 
‘marrying man’ would not suit you, and wished that 
some charming girl might save you the vexations of too 
long a courtship and the doubts which precede an offer 
of marriage — Here she is!” 


82 APRIL Ss LADY 


At his friend’s outburst of mirth, Trémor bit his 
lips. 

** I don’t feel in the mood for jesting,” he said coldly. 
** T am annoyed, harassed by an absurd story; I told you 
to obtain advice. Since you can give me only sarcasms, 
let us drop the subject. How long do you expect to 
stay at Rivailler? ” 

“* A week,” replied the collector quietly. Then, after 
a pause, he said suddenly: 

** Why don’t you marry this young girl? ” 

“Why?” repeated Michel, thoroughly excited. 
“Why, upon my word, you are crazy. Did I ever mean 
to marry? And if I did, should I be fool enough to 
marry a girl I scarcely know, and whom I do not love! ” 

* Whom you do not love with the emotions of a Ruy 
Blas or an Antony, but —” 

** Whom I simply do not love,” interrupted Michel. 

* But,” Daran went on with the same composure, “ I 
don’t see that it is indispensable to love so passionately 
the woman we marry. Very sensible marriages occur 
every day in which love crazes no one. ‘They are often 
the happiest.” 

** Money matches!” 

** Not at all. There are some men who marry to have 
a pleasant home and children. If Miss Severn is agree- 
able, intelligent, passably pretty, and in good health, 
I repeat —I do not see why you shouldn’t marry her.” 

Seated in an armchair, Michel was drumming on the 
oak wainscoting without looking at Daran. Suddenly 
he turned, laughing bitterly. 

“ Michel or The Bridegroom in spite of Himself! A 


APRIE S: “LADY. 83 


bad Scribe vaudeville! Do you know what I am going 
to do? I shall leave to-morrow and write from the 
North Cape to Madame Béthune to disentangle her son’s 
prank! You are certainly unique. If there was advice 
which I did not expect from you or anyone else, I con- 
fess that it was to endorse the responsibility of an ab- 
surd letter written in my name by an ill-bred student, 
and to marry any girl in consequence of an April Fool 
joke.” , 

Tt is not, any young girl,” objected Daran. “It is 
your cousin and the wife your sister intended for you. 
_ As for that little seamp, Claude’s, letter, it could not be 
so badly composed, since it was taken seriously.” 

* You will make out that I shall be under obligations 
to Claude.” 

** Quite possible, my dear fellow.” 

** At any rate you will admit that I am the only com- 
petent judge of the affair? ” 

* Oh! absolutely,” replied Daran. ‘ Have you heard 
from Monsieur Fauvel? ” 

“ec Wes.’ 

** Good news? ” 

** Excellent.” 

“ His laryngitis? ” 

** Completely cured.” 

“So much the better! A lawyer ought not to be 
troubled with his larynx!” 

The conversation continued in this vein of agreeable 
commonplaces, then, after a silence, Michel resumed: 

** Don’t you understand that I should show monstrous 
selfishness in marrying this young girl? Ah! if I were 


84 APRIL?S LADY 


twenty! Perhaps then I should lull myself with charm- 
ing illusions, perhaps I might say to myself, ‘ She is 
pretty, attractive, shall I love her?’ But I am thirty; 
I know life and, above all, myself. A clear complexion 
and beautiful eyes are not enough to turn my head. 
I do not love this child; admitting that, in the future, a 
sincere affection might bind me to her, I know that she 
would never inspire a profound, ardent love; I know 
that never, through me, would she obtain the devotion 
she desires, that she has a right to desire, that she doubt- 
less expects from me.” 

As Daran gently shrugged his shoulders, the young 
man went on: 

“Do me the favour to believe that I do not consider 
myself irresistible! But it is said that the race of ro- 
mantic young girls has not yet vanished from this 
world. Remember the circumstances in which Miss 
Severn and I met, the hour passed beside the tomb of 
the knight who died for love — and the name she wrote 
on the wall to obey the legend. Poor little thing! She | 
thought I resembled the knight. And three days after 
the commencement of this chapter from George Sand 
or Feuillet —” 

*¢ Plus the bicycle.” 

“She receives Claude’s letter! She must have in- 
stantly gathered in her obliging memory a hundred 
false examples with which to build a romance and per- 
suade herself that she was tenderly beloved. The thun- 
derbolt! Just think of it! If the hero was unworthy 
of the poem, never mind! You will see that, thanks to 
the extravagant stories of Colette, and the tale of the 


APRIL 1 CADDY, 85 


knight, this child has performed the miracle of trans- 
forming me into a hero of romance, as you said the 
other day —” 

** Highly probable, certainly,”’ assented Daran, light- 
ing a cigarette; “ only I don’t see what harm this meta- 
-morphosis — if metamorphosis there is — could do.” 

“Yet it is perfectly clear. Proud of being adored 
by a legendary personage, the poor girl would suddenly 
open her eyes wider and find herself in the presence of an 
ordinary man who married her from idleness, to put an 
end to the thing, as we say. What a deception! If 
I thought seriously of marrying Suzanne Severn, I 
should wish her to know what I have told you.” 

** There’s nothing easier,” replied Albert ; “* you could 
tell her.” 

“Yes, perhaps so. Then she would answer: ‘ You 
are not the man I expected; good-bye.’ ” 

Daran had mechanically picked up a magazine, and 
was turning its leaves without reading it. 

“If I were you,” he said, “ I shouldn’t go out of my 
way to look for trouble—TI should let myself be at- 
tracted by the charm of this delightful romance. Per- 
haps by dint of persuading myself that I was a very 
presentable Feuillet hero, I might some day become one. 
It is faith that saves us. At any rate, I should be very 
much flattered to be regarded as such by beautiful eyes. 
The ‘Romance of a rich young man’ is less poetic 
than —” 

** You are mistaken,” replied Michel. “It would be 
very natural for Miss Severn to have the feelings I de- 
scribed — and this without my having the least reason 


86 APRIE?S: LADY 


to brag of it, since, under the same circumstances, any 
other man would have aroused them as much as I. Yet 
if she admitted or allowed me to divine them, I might not 
be able to believe in their sincerity; I might possibly 
regard it as a farce. The poor young girl who trades 
in her life, and pretends to love because she has not the 
courage of her act in the presence of the man whom she 
is to marry — ah, that is no new thing to me, unfortu- 
nately.” 

This time Daran laid down the magazine, and turning 
his chair to see Michel more distinctly, said: 

‘What is it you want? You detest money matches, 
but you don’t believe in the good faith of poor young 
girls; you don’t understand marriages of convenience, 
but you would be afraid to be married through romantic 
impulse; you esteem only love marriages, but you vow 
never to love your wife; you scorn young girls who wed 
from calculation, but you say that if anyone should 
show love for you, you would not believe her sincere. 
What do you want? ” 

“JT don’t want to marry, that is all. ‘And I should 
have wished that my name might not be mixed up in a 
ridiculous story. You may be sure that I don’t mean to 
sacrifice my liberty to an April Fool joke of Claude 
Béthune.” 

It is certain,” replied Daran in a conciliatory tone, 
“that you are not responsible for young Béthune’s fol- 
lies, nor for Miss Severn’s heedlessness in not noticing 
the date of the letters she receives. You will explain 
the situation very delicately to Madame Béthune, who 
will tell Miss Severn — again very delicately — that if 


APRIL’S LADY 87 


you felt the slightest inclination to marry, you would 
have been rejoiced to devote yourself to her happiness, 
but that — Really, you are quite right, it is nothing but 
a vaudeville scenario! ” 

“ Oh! you call it a vaudeville scenario,” cried Michel, 
with great inconsistency ; “ you think it droll and amus- 
ing to say to a young girl, ‘ Mademoiselle, you are 
charming to have accepted my name, but I would not 
consent at any cost to give it to you.’ ” 

** Tt isn’t you who would tell her so. You take every- 
thing tragically.” 

** Oh, I beseech you, Daran!” said the young man, 
clasping his forehead with both hands. 

And, during the remainder of the visit, they talked 
of other things. 

The remark of -Michel’s friend reminded him of the 
reflections he had made at the time of his unfortunate 
meeting with Claude. 

Why should he torment himself beyond measure with 
this vaudeville situation? 'To exaggerate its impor- 
tance was to emphasise its absurdity. Claude’s “ April 
Fool” ought to be laughed at. If Miss Severn had any 
wit, she would be the first to be amused. 

But the difficulty, in such cases, is to know how to 
laugh without appearing detestable. All the diffidence 
of former days awoke in Michel, and he overwhelmed 
himself with the futile questions we ask ourselves after a 
deed is done. Why had he not waited for summer be- 
fore leaving Paris? Why had he not started for Nor- 
way? Why had he even spent the winter in France? 
Why, on receiving the letter which he then thought old 


88 APRIL S, GAD Y 


Miss Sarah had written, did he not tell Madame Béthune, 
instead of foolishly waiting for fresh complications? 
Why had he not, that very day, had the courage to deny 
the absurd engagement on which he was congratulated? 

Daran’s counsels had irritated Michel as_ utterly 
stupid, yet one still occupied his mind on account of the 
surprise, the bewilderment, instantly followed by rebel- 
lion, which he had felt. How could the idea that he, 
Trémor, would profit by Claude’s prank to marry his 
cousin Suzanne, ever have entered Daran’s head? 

Of all the issues from a situation whence he desired 
to escape with the least possible awkwardness, this was 
perhaps the only one Michel had not himself studied 
before his friend’s arrival. Now, more indulgent to 
Daran’s divagations, he smiled at them, regretting his 
anger. 

Weary of living alone and haunted by the feeling of 
lassitude which had succeeded an almost morbid prefer- 
ence for solitude, he finally reached the point of saying 
to himself that Daran was right in one respect, and that 
a marriage which would bestow peace, family joys, and 
the charm of the fireside, might in fact realise an ideal ~ 
of happy life without being necessarily the result of a 
passionate love. 

Michel did not think of marrying Suzanne Severn; in 
the first place it would have given a ridiculous close to a 
jest which was in very poor taste, and he dreaded ridi- 
cule; it was one of his weaknesses; then, admitting that 
some day he ought to marry, he should desire only a 
sensible union, from which the romantic element would 
be rigorously banished. Yet perhaps, in the future, he 


APRS: “LADY 89 


would be less on the defensive when Colette sang the 
praises of some young girl. 

For an instant Michel saw passing through the dusky 

room a slender figure which was neither that of the 
bicyclist of the Jouvelles woods nor the pretty Amer- 
“ican of the festival, yet which did not seem to have es- 
caped from the frame where perpetually smiled the White 
Lady of the tower. Vague, airy, she glided from one 
piece of furniture to another. Was she arrang- 
ing flowers in the old Rouen china? Michel closed his 
eyes and tried to believe that someone was there, that a 
voice would soon speak to him, that if he held out his 
hand, a smaller one would slip into his clasp. For an 
instant the bright, frank glance of Simone Chazé flashed 
from the darkest corner and the smiling lips of Mar- 
guerite Sainval,.a very pretty brunette whom Michel 
had often met in Madame Fauvel’s drawing-room, uttered ~ 
mysterious words. Then the little American tried to 
drive away the frank eyes and interrupt the smiling lips 
by saying: 

** My name is sweeter than that of Allys. I am the 
Knight’s promised bride. Why do you evoke other im- 
ages than mine? ” 

But Michel answered: 

“You are romance, poesy; romance and poesy have 
deceived me; all is over between us. Do not await the 
knight; he is lying lifeless on his couch of stone. No 
name could stir his heart or raise his lashes, not even 
yours, however sweet it may be; not even the name of 
other days, the name which was his last sigh, and which 
he now forgets in the eternal slumber.” 


VII 
4 BOUT ten o’clock Michel had had Tristan saddled 


and gone to Précroix, where he had asked for Madame 
Béthune. Now, standing before the window in the little 
drawing-room, he waited, looking out of doors. 

It was a grey morning with mists clinging to the trees 
and, at times, showers of fine rain mournfully veiling 
everything. Dreary, dismal weather! 

The hour of explanations had struck. Like a child 
about to recite a half-learned lesson, Michel was prepar- 
ing phrases. Almost as diffident as in his youth, be- 
neath the artificial ease which he had succeeded in acquir- 
ing, he would never have dared to give himself up to the 
inspiration of the moment. So, in this strange con- 
juncture of circumstances, he felt a certain comfort in 
evoking the frank face of May Béthune. This world- 
ling was a woman whom nothing astonished, yet this 
woman whom nothing astonished was infinitely kind be- 
neath her frivolous manners. She would perform the 
mission to Suzanne with tact and gentleness. Who ~ 
knows whether, in her desire to compensate for the blun- 
ders of her son Claude, she might not arrange for Miss 
Severn a brilliant revenge, make some Prince Charming 
appear as if in the last act of a fairy tale. Thanks to 
her, little Zanne, in the joy of the new betrothal, would 
speedily console herself for having been unappreciated 
by the gloomy owl in the tower of Saint-Sylvére. 


At last the young man heard steps; and Madame 
90 : 


APRIL’ S. LADY 91 


Béthune entered. Unfortunately, she was not alone. 
Radiant, with the joy of youth, as usual, sparkling on 
her lips and in her eyes, she came forward with one arm 
around the waist of Miss Severn, who was also smiling, 
a flush on her cheeks. After shaking hands they sat 
down with a rustle of silken skirts, and a conversation 
began, light, cordial, yet seemingly waiting for the 
‘* something serious ” that was to come. 

At first Michel had said gravely, ‘* Mademoiselle,” and 
May had laughed at him. Cousins! It was ridiculous! 
Then he had avoided addressing Suzanne directly or find- 
ing himself compelled to use any title in speaking to her, 
_ and he soon noticed that the young girl maintained the 
same reserve. 

The word engagement had not been uttered, but it was 
in the air, inevitable, and Michel felt the impression of 
an invisible net which would be slowly woven around him. 
It was in fact almost as difficult to confess the truth to 
Madame Béthune in Miss Severn’s presence as to sug- 
gest to Miss Severn a withdrawal that would have ren- 
dered an explanatory conversation with Madame Béthune 
possible. . 

At the end of a few minutes, the young matron touched 
upon the burning subject: 

“TI was certain that Susy’s letter would have to 
follow you to Paris, and I expected to see your ugly 
handwriting, and not your agreeable self at Pré- 
croix.” 

**I found my cousin’s letter on arriving, and I was 
going to Précroix when I met you yesterday, but you 
had so many people with you, that I seized the first 


92 APRIT’S LADY 


” replied Michel with a composure in 


pretext to escape, 
lying which astonished himself. 

“Poor fellow! Without knowing it, I was very cruel 
in changing your plans so,” returned Madame Béthune. 
** And Colette, what does she say to the events of the 
day?” 

** Colette knows nothing,” said Michel, feeling more 
and more muddled, but thinking that this time, at least, 
he was not committing the slightest offence against the 
truth. 

With a comical gesture May raised her clasped hands 
toward the ceiling, then let them fall into her lap. 

** Don’t open your eyes too wide, my dear,” she cried. 
** Monsieur Trémor is an oddity, whom no one will ever 
make commonplace. Colette and I warned you.” 

** T suppose you have been told much evil about me — 
Cousin? ” 

** A great deal.” 

“Oh, I find no fault with it; perhaps they have been 
even too indulgent.” 

“If you are fishing for a compliment, I warn you 
that you won’t get it, but I am going to allow you 
plenty of leisure to justify yourself against our charges,” 
said Madame Béthune, rising. 

She added: 

** My dear, you are an American and Michel Trémor 
is originally from some still unknown planet, so I can 
act outside of French conventionalities. -Good-bye for 
the present.” 

- The sound of the door closing upon the stylish figure 
echoed like a knell in the ears of the unfortunate Trémor. 


APRIW’S LADY 93 


He would fain have found words to detain Madame 
Béthune, wonderfully clever phrases to entreat her to 
have patience a moment and to take Suzanne away, but 
all spontaneity of invention failed him. Even before 
he could mentally grasp the consequences of this flight, 
Miss Severn’s voice brought him back to the pressing 
reality. 

“You are eccentric, that is true!” said this voice, 
emphasising the word. 

Michel looked at his cousin inquiringly. 

** Did not you recognise me at once at the Green Sep- 
ulchre? ” she asked. 

** No,” he answered evasively. 

‘When you recognised me, why didn’t you tell me 
so?” 

*T might answer you eh the same question,” replied 
Michel smiling. 

** Oh! I only wanted to have a little fun,” returned 
the young girl. “ At first, to tell the truth, I was a bit 
afraid of you, then when I understood who you were, all 
my fear vanished; then the adventure seemed so comical 
that I took care not to rob it of its bloom by exchang- 
ing cards. I had little doubt, however, in speaking of 
it to Madame Béthune and writing to our friend Claude, 
that the knight must play a part in my life. Did you 
know at that time that I was Maud and Claire’s gov- 
erness? ” 

** No,” answered Trémor. 

But though he clearly realised that his shuffling would 
end by giving him a sort of complicity in Claude’s 
pranks, he did not yet have courage to explain himself, 


94 APRIE’S: LADY 


and vowing that this evasion should be the last, 
added: 

‘IT knew through Colette that you were in Cannes at 
the same time as Madame Béthune and had arrived there 
with one of her old friends, so I could not be surprised 
at your presence at Précroix. JI theught that Maud and 
Claire were still under the charge of Miss Sarah.” 

** Ah! yes,” cried Suzanne with a charming laugh. 
“You thought of Miss Sarah, when I alluded to the 
Béthunes’ governess. Then you did not know that I 
was earning my living? ” she asked more seriously. 

* Colette had written that you were with Miss Stevens 
as her reader,” replied Michel quickly. 

Was Suzanne going to accuse him of this base petti- 
ness — contempt for women who earn their living! 

** My poor Uncle John left me all his savings, but they 
were not very large; I am not rich. You must know 
that, too,”? Miss Severn went on with the same serious- 
ness. ‘* Six thousand dollars is a very small dowry, isn’t 
ae”? 

This time Michel uttered a cry of protest. 

** Oh! Mademoiselle! ” 

He was overwhelmed with self-reproach at the idea 
that this child might perhaps conclude, from a refusal 
preceded by so much hesitation, that a question of for- 
tune or prejudice might have had some mean influence 
upon his determination. He must speak, and speak 
now, on pain of being a dishonest man. Yet had he 
still the right to do so? 

At this expressive exclamation from her cousin, 
Suzanne smiled and said very frankly: 


APRIL'S: (LADY 95 


*¢ Will you call me Suzanne? I do not know whether 
you still wish to marry me, but I am sure that I shall 
desire your friendship.” 

She held out her little hand. 

“Thank you,” said Michel, pressing: it. 

This assurance from Suzanne was indeed sweet to him 
when he thought of the task which he had to fulfil, so 
that a sort of emotion, consisting of apprehension as 
much as gratitude, thrilled in this thank you, robbing 
it of any triteness. But the lord of Saint-Sylvére tower 
was floundering more and more in the mire. Though he 
summoned to his aid all his strength of will, all his sin- 
cere desire to act loyally, the words stuck in his throat 
when he tried to say: 

* T have waited until this hour to inform you that you 
have been foolishly, odiously deceived.” 

Besides, Miss Severn did not consider their engage- 
ment fixed. What was the meaning of her allusion to 
a possible rupture? Seizing this pretext, Michel clung 
to the hope of some obstacle raised by Miss Severn her- 
self. He waited. 

** You seem rather — silent, this morning, Cousin.” 

**T am often so,” answered Michel. 

And he thought that the young girl was surprised by 
his somewhat cold, or at least singular manner. 

** Colette told me; she has talked about you a great 
deal. Don’t you think that — that she had a little de- 
sire for our marriage? ” 

“YT am sure of it—she desired it very eagerly, 
but sete ¢ UF 

66 But? 9 


96 APRLGS, LADY. 


“But if her somewhat blind affection for me could 
wish nothing more, it seems as if — her regard for you 
should have rendered her less exacting.” 

Miss Severn began to laugh. 

“TI am tempted to repeat Madame Béthune’s words: 
‘ Are you fishing for a compliment?’ ” 

“A compliment! Oh! Good Heavens, no, I assure 
you!” 

Unconsciously the sentence was spoken sorrowfully. 

Suzanne made no reply, busying herself in carefully 
removing a little dry leaf which had caught in the wool 
of her gown, then suddenly pushing back, with an im- 
patient gesture, the hair that rested on her cheeks, she 
fixed her candid gaze upon Michel. 

“Tf I wanted to talk with you,” she said, “ it is be- 
cause,— because, sincerely, I do not think I am the wife 
you need.” 

Michel started. 

6e Why? 99 

“For a number of reasons. In the first place, be- 
cause you are a superior man, and I am just an ordinary 
little woman. Oh! don’t protest, you know me so little 
that the praise would be meaningless. Next, because 
you are a sort of poet, a prose poet, if you like, but a 
thinker, a person captivated by fancies, and I am very 
practical. You must have noticed that there are two 
classes of ‘ marrying girls,’ those who dream, and those 
who calculate. I see a third: those who reason — to 
which I belong, for I flatter myself that I am not mer- 
cenary, yet I could not boast of being in any way sen- 
timental.” 


APRIL'S “LADY ou 


While thus expressing herself in very fluent French, 
oddly marked by an American accent, Michel was gaz- 
ing at her. 

In the English costume with a straight collar, which 
she wore this morning, Miss Severn looked much more like 
the bicyclist than the fashionable girl of the day before. 
But she resembled her like an older sister, the boyish 
vivacity of her manners tempered by feminine charm. 
At the Green Sepulchre Michel had thought her small 
and fragile; she was only slight and very refined, with 
a skin like snow, the rosy snow that floats in April in 
the blossoming orchards. Her hair, somewhat unusual 
in color, a light chestnut, waved naturally, without con- 
cealing the exquisite shape of her little head; her pretty 
mouth often smiled, showing a glimpse of small, white 
teeth; her eyes illumined her whole face. They were 
the “speaking eyes” Daran remembered; a somewhat 
humid blue, yet whose light was as cheering as a sunny 
day; eyes which always seemed to have something to 
_ say or to conceal; eyes which possessed a persuasive, sov- 
ereign charm; eyes which would have softened Hop 0’ 
my Thumb’s ogre, haunted the dreams of a hermit less 
hardened than the one in the tower of Saint-Sylvére, 
and which had for an accomplice a saucy little nose 
slightly tip-tilted as if to better inhale the joy of 
life. 

Suzanne Severn would have been considered anywhere 
an extremely pretty girl. Unless blind or singularly 
near-sighted, it would have been difficult not to admit 
this, and Michel’s eyes were no worse than any other 
man’s. For an instant, without any lover-like emotion, 


98 APRIL’S “LADY: 


he admired with genuine pleasure this delicate beauty, as 
he would have admired a rare flower. 

** At the Green Sepulchre,” Suzanne went on, “ you 
were able to create some charming illusions about me. 
It was all very romantic — though you treated me like 
a baby —that meeting in the ruins, and the idea of 
writing my name on the walls was romantic too! I 
really don’t know what nonsense entered my mind. 
I love legends, that is it. My prosaic Yankee im- 
agination doubtless hides some little corner of mys- 
tery. It is an inheritance from my grandmother, your 
Aunt Régine. Ah, she was romantic! She sacrificed 
everything, family, future, native land, to a great love; 
yet I have often seen her weep, and she never spoke of 
my grandfather to me. She was not happy. I do not 
know whether her sadness inspired some unconscious dis- 
trust in me; but I have never longed for the marriage 
of love, so greatly desired by some girls. I don’t think 
great passions are natural to me. You remember my 
French governess, the one who called me Zanne. Poor 
girl! She had a lover somewhere — she never married 
him, alas!— and in telling me her dreams, she was so 
droll that I reached the point of wondering whether, when 
people loved without being unhappy like grandmother, 
they were not compelled to be ridiculous, like Made- 
moiselle Gémier.” 

“You were not wrong. People are most frequently 
both ridiculous and unhappy.” 

*¢ Besides, I will confess that marriage and love oc- 
cupied my mind very little until Uncle John’s death,” 
Miss Severn continued calmly. “ My simple, peaceful, 


ARR ba 99 


easy life as a young girl satisfied me — my somewhat 
serious studies, for Uncle John wished me to be capable 
of teaching; a few parties of young people of my own 
age, for he did not wish me to be entirely without enter- 
tainment; instructive reading in general (I don’t care 
for novels) the management of our tiny home; my 
little attentions to Uncle John, who took the place of 
the father and mother whom I had never known and the 
grandmother I had just lost, were enough to fill my 
days. Oh! I won’t make myself out any better than I 
am! I love pretty gowns, pretty rooms, luxury in all 
its forms, but when I saw my poor uncle working in an 
office for me at sixty years, I learned with pleasure to be 
economical and, when he returned happy to find me at 
home, I was as content as he in this narrow existence. 
Then — Uncle John died —” 

Here Suzanne’s voice faltered. 

* Poor child,’? Michel murmured. 

* Uncle John died,” she went on; “I grieved deeply. 
Then I felt so small, so weak, so lost, that, for the first 
time, I thought of seeking a protector. But mean- 
while, as I was not-rich, I wanted to work. My good 
grandmother had reared me in the Catholic religion; 
she had given me a French teacher; her last wish, which 
Uncle John respected, had been that the very small sum 
she left me should enable me to spend six months in 
France and there study the French language. A short 
time before her death she had said, *‘ Promise me that, 
later, if your heart and your duty do not keep you in 
America, you will return to France and marry only a 
Frenchman.’ I promised. I worshipped my grand- 


100 APRILS ~ LADY 


mother, and through her I learned to love France: as 
another native land. Alone in the world I remembered 
these things and, as Miss Stevens wanted to take to 
Paris and Cannes a young girl who was competent to 
help her in her correspondence and read to her, I came 
with her.” 

“ To seek a husband? ” asked Michel. 

* First to earn a little money, and then to have some 
chance of finding myself near a Frenchman who was 
looking for a wife, Cousin.” 

Then, as Michel smiled, she added: 

“TJ am sorry if I shock you, but tell me, when par- 
ents want to marry off their daughter, do they -leave 
her sitting in the chimney corner? If they want to 
wed her to a manufacturer, do they throw her into a 
circle of artists, or if to a soldier, into a set of mer- 
chants? I, alas, I have no relative to attend to these 
things for me, and besides, do you suppose that young 
girls who do, never think of anything but the pleasure 
of dancing when they are taken to balls? Since I wished 
to marry, it was necessary to see some people, and to 
see people in France, as I wanted to marry a Frenchman. 
But be sure that if I was seeking a husband, as you say, 
I was not at all disposed to marry anyone I chanced to 
meet.” 

“J thank you,” replied Trémor, bowing, with a touch 
of irony. 

“You do right,” replied the young girl, looking 
him squarely in the face. : 

Then, with the same calmness, she went on: 

“T found two in succession. First, on the boat, a 


APRITCS  EADy. 101 


merchant from Bordeaux, well off, but tiresome — and 
ugly! Oh! dear! —then at Cannes a Dutchman from 
Batavia who was not very long —I must do him that 
justice — in placing at my feet his name with ten mil- 
lions and sextuple years. For my taste there were a 
little too many millions, and far too many years. I had 
no ideal, thank Heaven, but I had an idea!” 

** And your idea? ” 

“* My idea was to marry only a man young enough 
to share or understand my tastes, distinguished enough 
for me to be proud to go arm in arm with him, kind 
and loyal enough for me to have every confidence in 
him, intelligent enough to direct to my satisfaction his 
life and my own.” 

“In short, perfection? ” 

* That isn’t all. I was going to add: rich enough to 
give me the luxury, the elegances, the pleasures I love. 
I would never marry a poor man. I am making you my 
profession of faith, so I wish it to be sincere. Love in 
a cottage, the slice of bread shared, etc.,— excellent in 
theory! But you know the vulgar saying, ‘ When 
there is no more hay in the manger, the horses fight.’ 
I prefer a fine house to a cottage, and cakes to bread. 
Besides, I have often noticed that love matches are less 
frequent than people suppose, and — above all, less 
happy.” 

* Ah! you have made your little personal observa- 
tions? ” 

“ Often. I have friends who adored their lovers and 
who spend their time in speaking ill of their husbands. 
They are more or less jealous, they suffer agony about 


102 APRIL’S LADY 


any number of trivial things, while I see around me 
pleasant homes whose beginning was certainly not ro- 
mantic. I will not quote the Béthunes, that I may not 
shock you. But Colette and Robert! There are two 
people contented with their fate, and who love each 
other warmly without dreaming of the impossible! 
Colette’s household is my ideal. And now if you 
should say that I am very exacting and ambitious 
for a poor little governess, I should answer that, am- 
bitious or not, I am absolutely mistress of my life; my 
little fortune places me above the reach of want; work 
bores, without frightening me; if I do not marry, I shall 
console myself for it very well. I belong, as I have 
confessed, to the class of young girls who reason. 
When you did me the honour to ask for my hand, I 
reasoned. You not only seemed to me to unite the 
requisite conditions, but you are also the brother of 
Colette, whom I dearly love, the nephew of my grand- 
mother, whom I also loved dearly, and my cousin, whom — 
I am inclined to love too. I could meet no better match. 
This is the reason I answered yes at once. But I am 
frank and thoroughly honest. If you had imagined me 
different, if you would desire to be adored by your wife 
and play the sentimental lover, do not marry me. I 
shall be a good little wife, a loyal comrade if necessary, 
I shall esteem you highly, I shall love you tranquilly, 
in my own way, but I don’t know whether it is a’ good 
one — and I shall never adore you. I am entirely in- 
capable of passionate love.” 

Suzanne Severn had made this little speech with calm 


APRIL S» “LADY 103 


simplicity and a distinctness emphasised by the pecul- 
iarly clear tone of her voice. 

Michel had listened, first with astonishment, then with 
a feeling of rebellion, at last with an indulgent curiosity. 
He had perceived by certain vibrations in the limpid 
voice that some little courage was needed in this great 
frankness, and the gaze of a pair of very pure eyes 
had allowed him to understand that there was much in- 
nocence underlying this boldness. 

“ You are a strange child,” said he. 

“JT don’t think so,” she retorted; ‘‘ only I have not 
spent half my time in dreaming of the stars, and the 
rest in reading novels ; I know that life is not a romance, 
and that the stars shine far from the earth. Then, I 
am sincere, sincere with others, sincere with myself, 
which is often more difficult. But I imagine that my 
declaration of principles surprises you.” 

Michel could not help laughing. 

* Yes, I thought —” 

* You feared so?” repeated the young girl. 

She was silent, reflected, then said deliberately : 

** Michel, I am sure that you do not love me. Why 
do you want to marry me? ” 

There was a startled look in Michel’s eyes; hitherto, 
he had listened indifferently, yielding to the course of 
events. 

But Suzanne went on quietly: 

_ “My experience of life, as well as of novels, is very 
brief ; yet it seems to me that if you loved me, you would 
not have heard what I have just said with so much 


104 APRIL:S LADY 


calmness; it seems as if you would have already an- 
swered my last question. So you do not love me, and 
then — I am almost poor, I have no family, no relatives. 
Why should you wish me to become your wife? ” 

The question was plain. Why had it not been put 
sooner, before so many delays could make the young 
girl believe —if the truth was at last told her — that 
the man to whom she had thus confessed was playing 
with her and her confidence! Michel wanted to confess 
at the same time Claude’s fault and his own, implore 
Suzanne’s pardon, but an insurmountable shame checked 
the words on his lips, and he felt as guilty through the 
cowardice that had stopped him for an hour, as Claude 
through his cruel mischief. He gazed a moment at the 
figures in the carpet which whirled beneath his eyes, then 
he raised his head. He had reached his decision. 

“ You have been singularly frank with me, Suzanne, 
and it seems as if my candour should equal yours,” he 
said, calling the young girl by her Christian name for 
the first time. ‘ You are right; before I heard this, I 
knew you very slightly, but Colette is a poor artist, 
for she has given you an extremely false idea of me. 
Perhaps I have not always been so reasonable as you 
are; at any rate, I have become so, and if she ever met 
the enthusiastic poet, the dreamer she described, I defy 
her now to find him again. This poet was only a mad- 
man or even a fool; far from possessing your wisdom, 
he artlessly believed that the stars were not unattainable. 
He had a great deception, and found himself at once 
so miserable and so unhappy that he swore to cure him- 
self of this sorrow of love—since the term is conse- 


APRIE?S: “LADY 105 


crated — and he kept his oath so well that he soon felt 
cured forever. Then he cried out that his life was 
crushed, and I think he died of the cure! I am speak- 
ing of the poet, for the remains of the catastrophe were 
picked up by a very practical man, fully inclined to 
make the most of them. It is this new philosopher 
whom you see to-day. I no longer dream of a great 
poem, a great love, nor a great happiness, Suzanne, and 
I have given up reaching the stars; only I don’t know 
what to do with this poor shattered existence — and 
I should like to give it to you. I should like to have 
a fireside, family life, duties that snatch me from the 
selfishness of my barren journeys through the world. 
And if I ask permission to devote this life to you, to 
offer you the first place at this fireside, it is because I, 
too, have reasoned, because I know that you are intelli- 
gent and kind, because you, like myself, are alone, and 
because Colette loves you. You see that your sincerity 
has given me courage to show mine. I dare not, I will 
not tell you that I love you with the passionate emotion 
your beautiful youth should claim, but I can swear that 
your happiness shall be dearer to me than my own, and 
that you will find in me a devotion and care which will 
never fail. Will you be my wife?” 

Michel looked intently at Suzanne, anxiously waiting 
for her reply, still vaguely hoping it might be a refusal. 

But she answered smiling: 

* Yes, Michel.” 

When Trémor, in the presence of the radiant Madame 
Béthune, took leave of his fiancée, he gently raised her 


hand to his lips. 


106 APHIS “LADY 


“You will need a doll’s ring,” he remarked, still 
holding the little fingers in his own. There was no 
longer any trace of emotion in the young girl’s face. 
Clasping her hands, with a look of entreaty in her eyes, 
she cried: 

** Oh, please, a pearl, a pretty pearl; I am so fond of 
them.” 

The rain had ceased; a wan sunlight was gilding the 
greyish whiteness of the clouds. Madame Béthune and 
Suzanne accompanied Michel to the door steps, and 
while he was mounting, stood for a moment laughing 
and talking, shivering slightly in the damp atmosphere. 

** We dine at seven! ” May Béthune reminded Trémor 
as he rode off on Tristan, with a last greeting to the 
ladies. 

When he had passed the entrance gate, the young man 
urged his horse to a quicker pace; he felt the need of 
cooling his forehead in the breeze, wearying his over- 
excited nerves by violent exercise. 

On leaving Précroix, it seemed as if he had waked 
from a nightmare. But alas, the nightmare could not 
be, separated from reality. Michel Trémor had just 
pledged his life. 

Now a dull sense of anger seethed within him, mingled 
with a feeling of distress at the irrevocable nature of 
the act, but, somewhat scornfully, his resentment spared 
Suzanne. Why should the young girl be expected to be 
unlike the majority of her contemporaries? In com- 
parison with the few who, before passively giving their 
lives, voluntarily bestow all their souls and minds, how 
many marry through ambition and vanity, to obtain a 


APRS. ds Aye 107 


relative independence, or merely to obey a social custom, 
and not risk dressing St. Catherine’s hair? 

Suzanne, feeling herself alone, almost poor, and ill 
suited for the daily battle of life, sought in marriage a 
protector and a fortune, and one must do her the justice 
of admitting that having decided to marry only a rich 
man, it was not enough that he should be merely 
wealthy to induce her to accept him. 

Endowed, doubtless for her own happiness, with a 
practical mind, a tranquil imagination, a somewhat cold 
heart, and a calm temperament, she was a young girl like 
so many others, far more numerous than is believed by 
the young men who are ready to become infatuated with 
these mysterious little creatures; she was even something 
more. This honest child had acted like an honest man. 
It is true that, at first, Michel had been on the point 
of attributing Miss Severn’s frankness to a sort of 
cynicism, but almost instantly he was tempted to feel 
an esteem for his cousin’s character — though the senti- 
ment was somewhat bitter. If Michel preferred a sin- 
cerity that bordered upon boldness to a reserve which 
touched hypocrisy, it was because he remembered. 

However that might be, the young man’s resentment 
was directed solely against the work of chance for whose 
cowardly acceptance he reproached himself, not merely 
because, evoked by the new betrothal, all the malice of 
former days returned, but because he already measured 
the full extent of the error he was about to commit; the 
strange child who had so frankly expressed her theories, 
saw clearly when she said she was not the woman who 
might have made him happy. 


108 APRIE*S* EADY 


Having only a very commonplace life to offer the 
woman he should marry, he did not desire to quarrel 
with Miss Severn’s positive ideas. A marriage of 
prudence, so be it! But a marriage of prudence should 
also be a prudent marriage. 

Though far from the time when his ardent imagina- 
tion prostrated itself before a deified image, Michel 
knew that, if he were absolute master of his decisions, 
he should never have married a woman who did not cor- 
respond in some degree, if not to the ideal of former 
days, at least to the type which he had since created 
of the being from whom he would ask a relative happi- 
ness. 

** My decision has been as deliberate as yours,” he had 
said kindly to Miss Severn; “I wanted my wife to be 
sweet, intelligent, and have Colette love her.” 

Beloved by Colette Suzanne was; sweet and intelligent, 
Michel had some reason to believe she might be, but to 
attain complete sincerity he should have added: “I 
wished my wife to be sweet and I divine that you are 
self-willed, a little domestic like myself, and you love 
society, quiet, and you are constantly astir, very fem- 
inine in tastes and manners, and the first time I met 
you, you were running about the woods, dressed like a 
boy.” 

“Marry! That’s all very well!*? Michel said to 
himself, “ perhaps I might have married some day — 
but to marry a woman whom I dislike, it is too absurd! ” 

Perhaps he did not actually dislike Suzanne, but she 
certainly attracted him very little. He even criticised 
the girlish beauty which, for an instant, had charmed 


APRIL'S. (LADY: 109 


him. Besides, he felt an inclination to detest the accent 
she had retained, though speaking as grammatically as 
a French woman, and which, when she talked, seemed as 
if it were actually visible on her lips. 

At the Green Sepulchre, when there was no serious 
subject between them, Michel had been able to judge the 
young girl as she doubtless often appeared in daily life, 
and from their conversation at that time, as well as the 
more recent request for a pearl, a “ pretty pearl,” he 
concluded that she was ridiculously childish for a woman 
of twenty-two. 

Charming as children are, child-women are unbear- 
able! Michel imagined Suzanne as a second edition of 
Colette, a Colette with less heedlessness and less feminine 
charm. He loved his sister warmly, but how many 
times he had admired the patience and good-humour 
of his brother-in-law. Colette’s home was Miss Sev- 
ern’s ideal! 

Now Michel wondered how he could have answered 
calmly, with winning phrases, words whose memory 
disgusted him. It would have been so simple to cut 
short all hesitation with the reply, “ You are right; 
Iamonly amadman. I dreamed of being loved.” And 
Michel laughed at his own ingenuousness. To think that 
he could have attributed romantic ideas to so practical a 
person as Miss Severn! Romantic — the experienced bi- 
cyclist, the young woman in an uncouth costume wan- 
dering about the woods with a road-map! 

** Oh! what a strange couple we shall be!” sighed the 
young man. 

At the tower of Saint-Sylvére, Daran was waiting. 


110 AP hi S <LADY. 


“ Well,” asked the devoted friend with unfortunate 
eagerness, ‘* will you marry or not marry? ” 

Michel ought not to have been much surprised by the 
question, but through a very human inconsistency, the 
fact that Daran had considered possible the very im- 
probable decision he had just made, exasperated him. 

** Attend to your own affairs!” he answered angrily, 
crossing the room to go into the adjoining chamber, then 
a feeling of remorse changed his mood. 

* You will lunch with me, won’t you? ” he asked, this 
time very amiably. And he added: 

**T am only a fool, Daran, anda lunatic! Iam going 
to marry.” 


Part Second 





PART. SECOND 


1 
M ICHEL’S engagement, announced at Cannes with- 


out a word concerning the strange incident which had 
caused it, hastened by several days the return of Mon- 
sieur and Madame Fauvel. 

Colette was radiant. In the course of the past season, 
during which the intimacy with May Béthune and Miss 
Stevens had thrown her constantly with Suzanne, she 
had given her enthusiastic heart wholly to the merry, 
frank little cousin, who chatted so prettily with her, 
played with Nysette, made the fourth at Robert’s game of 
whist, and told Georges stories. Then, right or wrong, 
Colette was sure that the lines of sorrow on Michel’s 
brow which her loving sisterly kisses could not efface, 
would vanish in the warm light of a happy fireside. And 
as she was wholly incapable of caring for a question of 
fortune, it had seemed to her very simple to unite for 
life two persons between whom her affection already 
formed a bond. So she had not asked herself whether 
Michel and Suzanne would be suited to each other. Was 
not her big, kind Michel, when he thought it worth while 
to take the trouble, the most charming of men? 

As for “ little Zanne,” she had all the desirable quali- 
ties — so bewitching, so droll, so merry, and besides so 
elegant in a little four-cent gown! At Cannes, every- 


body, including May Béthume, Robert, and the children, 
113 


114. AERTS. bADY 


were bewitched with her and lamented that tiresome Miss 
Stevens should selfishly appropriate her for the benefit 
of her rheumatism and hypochondria. Dear little Zanne! 
She deserved a great happiness. And now the wishes 
and expectations of Madame Fauvel would be miracu- 
lously realised, now the great happiness had come! 

Scarcely was she out of the carriage when the young 
matron threw herself into Trémor’s arms. 

“* Where is Suzanne? ” she cried, always following the 
thought of the moment, as she planted two kisses on her 
brother’s cheeks. 

“ Why, at Précroix,” he answered, with imperceptible 
impatience. 

Then he tenderly kissed Colette and little Georges, 
whom she held by the hand, warmly returned Robert’s 
cordial greeting, and took up Nysette, who, wearied by 
the journey, was rubbing her eyes in her nurse’s arms. 

** How do you do, Tonti? ” murmured the little girl in 
a sleepy tone and a comical accent on the last syllable of 
the name she gave her uncle. ‘ Where is Zazanne? ” 

“She has gone back to America,” replied Michel, 
laughing, yet irritated. 

This young girl whose love he had not sought seemed 
to invade his whole life and spoil its little joys. Nysette 
laughed, too, then letting her head fall upon Tonti’s 
shoulder, “ Silly!” she said disrespectfully. And she 
fell asleep again. 

But at dinner and later, in the Fauvel’s drawing- 
room, while Robert was attending to his voluminous 
correspondence, questions rained afresh; he was obliged 
to answer, compelled to look pleased when at the name of 


APRIL(S* LADY. EBs: 


Suzanne Colette sounded her praises, in which Monsicur 
Fauvel discreetly joined. 

“ She is a very charming girl; Georges and Nysette 
worship her,” the lawyer concluded, as if this testimony 
said everything. 

Madame Fauvel was a little disappointed at hearing 
that Miss Severn expected to stay at Précroix until 
Madame Béthune’s departure, that is, until the time 
Castelflore would reopen its doors, and very indignant 
on finding that Michel had not given up his journey to 
the North. 

“* Why, are you crazy?” she exclaimed. “If I were 
Suzanne, I would kill you!” 

“Why? Suzanne knows that my plans were made 
several months ago — and we shall not marry before 
the autumn, when you return to Paris.” 

* Then for three months you will not see each other? ” 

* Two months and a half, at most. And we shall have 
so many months to see each other afterward.” 

Madame Fauvel opened her beautiful hazel eyes very 
wide. 

** How queer you are,” she said. ‘ And yet — she 
pleases you? ” 

“ Oh! certainly,” returned the young man. “ We are 
beginning to know each other very well, now that we have 
dined together three times and had a game of croquet. 
She has a good appetite, and plays capitally. On the 
whole, it is a very charming doll.” 

“Oh! Michel, doll!” repeated Madame Fauvel. 

And Robert remarked, “ I think you are very harsh. 
Why the deuce do you marry her? ” 


as 


116 APRS LADY. 


“To please Colette! ” sighed Trémor. 

He was about to add something to his reply concerning 
Suzanne, for he was in a very bad temper that morning, 
when Nysette, climbing into the armchair, perched upon 
his knees. He kissed her and while the little girl returned 
his kisses with sweet caresses, light touches of rosy fingers, 
and gay laughter, he said: 

“If I could have stolen Nysette from you, my dear 
friends, I believe I should never have married.” 

Then he sat down near his brother-in-law, who almost 
immediately commenced a discussion that had nothing to 
do with Suzanne. 

Colette had not heard the suggestion of stealing Ny- 
sette; her love for her children was the only heroic feeling 
in her little bird-soul. Daran had not exaggerated; for 
them she would have made any sacrifice. Robert took the 
second place. Madame Fauvel loved her husband, loved 
him very much, but somewhat like a daughter, yet with the 
air of a princess in allowing herself to be petted, adorned, 
worshipped by this grave man, who had never sought 
to make the beautiful idol his real companion and 
support. 

Tall, slender, graceful, pretty, too, with brown eyes 
which were sometimes like her brother’s, and thick, reddish 
brown hair, naturally kind and agreeable, sufficiently in- _ 
telligent to talk upon a variety of subjects with charming 
vivacity, artistic enough to dress with a style that dress- 
makers cannot sell, Colette was one of those women to 
whom people are grateful for being beautiful and smiling, 
without asking more. 

In a fit of ill temper, increased by Madame Fauvel’s tri- 


APRIL?S: LADY 117 


umphant enthusiasm, Michel had taken pleasure in affect- 
ing a sort of disdain in speaking of Suzanne, which 
greatly exaggerated his real feeling. 

Miss Severn was intelligent, more intelligent than 
Colette, and far better educated. She had read a great 
deal, history and science, travels, very little poetry, and 
few novels. She played and sang as well as the average 
person, could caricature people with a stroke of the 
pencil, danced as naturally as others walk, rode horse- 
back with equal ease, and could modestly declare herself a 
first class tennis player. 

Every evening, according to a standing order, a won- 
derful white bouquet came from Paris for Miss Severn, 
but bored by his character of engaged lover, Trémor 
pleaded the business which must be done before his depar- 
ture as an excuse for the infrequency of his visits. Be- 
sides, Suzanne simplified matters by the natural, friendly 
tone she instantly assumed, treating Michel far more like 
her cousin than her future husband. 

Delighted to spend the summer at Castelflore, and to 
be no longer either secretary or governess, she did not 
trouble herself at all about the departure for Norway. 
She had declared that she thought it extremely vexatious, 
and even absurd to defer— unless for some serious 
obstacle — journeys that had been planned for a long 
time. It was foolishly risking the chance of ever making 
them. 

No one asked what she meant by a “ serious obstacle,” 
and Trémor wondered whether Miss Severn, indulgent to 
the journey, might not be making a little fun of the 
traveller, but the young girl’s face was very calm; no 


118 APRIL'S: LADY 


laugh, banished from the lips, sparkled in her eyes. 
An odd little thing, certainly. 

Vexed at being compelled to marry, persuaded that his 
wife would make life difficult and disagreeable for him, 
Michel had yet admitted to himself that he would have 
rather enjoyed talking with Suzanne, if the thought of 
the bond uniting him to her had not poisoned the charm 
of their conversations. Yes, she was amusing! But 
amusing women do not always entertain, and do not en- 
tertain everybody! In any case there is one person whom 
they never amuse, and that is their husband. 

Michel spent in Paris the week following the Fauvels’ 
arrival; several matters to settle, letters to write, reading 
to finish, preparations for the journey absorbed nearly 
all his time. | 

Now that the date of his departure was approaching, 
Michel felt in the mood for concessions. Everything 
was ready. Far from Paris and Rivailler, he could 
once more cast behind him the cares of real life. Two 
months of change, two months of liberty! The future 
vanished in mist. Yes, everything was ready for de- 
parture. 


iat 


TH evening before his departure, Michel dined at 
Castelflore, where Monsieur and Madame Fauvel had just 
settled, joyously welcoming Suzanne, whom Madame 
Béthune’s absence had at last released. 

The architect who built Castelflore had had the Trian- 
ons in his mind, and Colette had furnished it in harmony 
with the period. The park with its groves, its shady wil- 
lows and oaks, from whose green shadow, here and there 
shimmered the whiteness of statues, descended in a gentle 
slope to the Serpentine, a small stream which washed its 
shores. And it was a paradise of flowers. 

Suzanne was instantly captivated by Castelflore; she 
was artlessly happy in seeing around her only cheerful 
faces and beautiful things. | 

For the first time that year, Colette had had the 
coffee served on the terrace. It was a beautiful evening, 
an hour of peace, but Michel enjoyed neither the quiet 


nor the happiness. Leaning against the stone balus- 


trade, he heard only the murmur of conversation between 
Suzanne and Fauvel, of which a word occasionally 
reached him, as he gazed mournfully into the distant 


shadows of the park. At last, he roused himself from 


eee ee ae ee Te ae 


this morbid reverie and approached the group. 
** May I take a cigarette? ” he asked, drawing out his 
case. 


As Colette answered with a smile, he glanced at Miss 
119 


120 ARRIL SS LADY 


Severn. “The smoke will not annoy you? ” he persisted 
mechanically. 

** A cigarette annoy me! Please pass me one! ” 

“You smoke! ” exclaimed Michel, instantly recalled to 
reality, and both amused and vexed by the discovery. 

**I smoked with Uncle John —very often! And I 
like to smoke; it is ‘ exciting.’ <A cigarette, please.” 

‘Very well,” replied Trémor, and after handing his 
case to the young girl, he went back to lean on the balus- 
trade. 

* Thank you, Michel, thank you,” repeated Miss Severn. 

She had already lighted the cigarette. ‘ What fun 
it is to live!”? she hummed. “I am happy, happy, 
happy! Iwant nothing more in the world. This Turk- 
ish tobacco is delicious! ”” 

Monsieur Fauvel, who had said nothing, laughed heart- 
ily. 

“It is your last day, my dear,” he said; ‘* make the 
most of it. When Michel is gone, you won’t have the 
right to be happy and amuse yourself in this way.” 

** Why?” she answered quietly. ‘“ Is he going to Nor- 
way to be bored? ” 

** Well said! ” cried Colette. 

Michel turned. 

“I wish you to enjoy yourself,’ he remarked. 

** Thank you.” 

** At any rate we will do everything possible to en- 
tertain her,” said the young matron, affectionately. 

“ Ah! we haven’t yet reached the right moment at 
Rivailler; wait for the season, Susy ; wait for the season,” 
said Monsieur Fauvel. 


APRS: LADY: 121 


** Are there pleasant people here then? ” 

* Charming people! Ask Michel,” replied the lawyer, 
thinking of the attacks of shyness to which his brother- 
in-law always gave himself up as soon as he reached 
Saint-Sylvére. 

Suzanne instantly sprang up, threw away her half- 
smoked cigarette, and leaned on the balustrade beside 
her cousin. 

** Michel,” she said, “ don’t be sulky ; tell me the charm- 
ing people at Rivailler.” 

* Their name is legion,” replied Trémor through a 
spirit of contradiction. 

* That is a little vague — give me details.” 

**Gladly,” replied Michel, with the same obliging 
manner. ‘ There are the Pontmaurys, a father and five 
sons.” 

“ Five sons, oh! dear me!” 

“ That interests you,” replied the young man, some- 
what sarcastically. ‘‘ The three youngest are children; 
so only the two others count with you, don’t they? ” 

** Certainly,” answered Susy, a little tone of defiance in 
her voice. 

** Léon is twenty-eight,” said Michel; “ he is a lawyer, 
a steady-going fellow.” 

* With a distant manner, whiskers, and set speeches! 
Ican see him now! Goon!” 

“Thank you very much, Suzanne,” cried Monsieur 
Fauvel. 

* You have no whiskers, in the first place, and then 


you are charming, which you know just as well as I do. 
‘And the other? ” 


122 APRIL Ss LADY 


“The other? Gaston,” Michel went on patiently, “ is 
twenty-five; his principal occupation, I believe, is devour- 
ing his mother’s fortune.” 

** That’s very bad! Next?” 

“Next are Monsieur Landry, a retired notary, and 
his daughter, Madame de Lorge, who writes her name 
in two words, since she has been a widow.” 

“T have been told some tales about her, Michel,” in- 
terrupted Monsieur Fauvel. 

“Oh! so have I,” replied Michel laughing. 

** Tell me,” cried Suzanne eagerly. 

Michel did not laugh; the question shocked him. 

“ T have forgotten them,” he answered coldly. 

** So much the worse; I’ll ask Robert. Is Madame de 
Lorge pretty?” 

“ That’s a matter of taste. Smart, but smart in 
rather bad style; that is all!” 

‘¢ Ah — and then, who else? ” 

** My friend Jacques Réault, who has just been mar- 
ried, for whom I have rented the des Saules villa.” 

“Is Madame Réault pretty? ” 

** Charming.” 

** Blonde? ” 

*‘ Brunette.” 

** Ah! — And then? ” 

** Madame Réault’s sister, Mademoiselle Chazé, a very 
sweet child, Paul Réault, Jacques’ brother, a —” 

“A very sweet fellow. Oh! I know him,” said 
Suzanne calmly. 

Michel looked surprised. 

“You know him? ” 


APICES: JcAbD-y. 123 


“He was at Cannes last winter. We played tennis 
— he is —a little wild? ” 

“Very wild,” continued Trémor, who had regained 
his calmness. “He graduated from the School of 
Science and Art two years ago, and finished his military 
service last autumn, but I strongly suspect he is follow- 
ing Gaston Pontmaury’s example. Jacques is in de- 
spair over his brother’s recklessness.” 

“Pshaw! Young men must have their fun! And 
who else? ” 

* You are insatiable; I know no more.” 

Michel had reached the end of his patience. Still 
resting his elbows on the balustrade, he bent his head 
till his forehead touched his open palms, and remained 
silent. 

“T’m sorry for your memory!” cried Colette. ‘* And 
Languille! The artist you know, little Zanne. And 
the Sainvals! Delightful people, who always have a 
houseful of guests. And Raymond Desplans, their 
cousin, a friend of Michel — lastly, Susy, I’ll spare 
you the sub-prefect, the various officials, and many 
others ! ” 

“ Ah, well, well, there are enough for my happiness! ” 
said Suzanne merrily. 

She turned smiling toward Michel, asking: 

* You will not be too jealous, if these people pay me 
a little attention? ” 

** Jealous, I! Good Heavens, no,” he answered, an- 
grily throwing the match which had just gone out down 
on the gravel walk. . 

** You are not very polite, my dear cousin.” 


124 PIES, “BAY. 


“Why?” he said in a more conciliatory tone. “I 
think that jealousy is offensive. I trust you, that is 
all.” 

She laughed rather hardly, murmured, “ Frailty, thy 
name is woman,” and with her pretty gliding step, went 
back to Colette. 

*T see,’ she added aloud, “ that Rivailler is a little 
Capua.” 

After a moment they returned to the drawing-room 
and, at half past ten, Michel rose to take leave. He 
embraced Colette, who for several minutes had been talk- 
ing in a somewhat tremulous voice, then he held out 
his hand to Suzanne. 

“JT hope you will give me the pleasure of answering 
the letters I shall write,” he said politely. 

“Why, of course. Good-bye, and a_ pleasant 
journey, Michel.” 

** Kiss her; this is absurd!” said Colette, with a laugh 
which showed that tears were close at hand. 

Suzanne quietly offered her cheek, and Michel pressed 
his lips to it. His heart was a little heavy, not because 
he was going to leave his young fiancée, but because 
she parted from him so coldly. Suddenly turning to 
Colette again, he kissed her repeatedly, clasping her 
closely to his breast. 

“More and more! She smokes, and I am almost 
certain she flirts,” he thought, quickly descending the 
steps of Castelflore. ‘I certainly do not like her.” 

When Miss Severn put out her candle, a arene of 
ideas whirled through her brain. 

** Ah! how comfortable I am! What an ideal cham- 


APRIL: LADY 125 


ber, so cool and pink! I love pink rooms. I would 
like to have one with Louis XVI furniture. If only 
Michel will spoil me a little, give me pretty things. 
I think he has a great deal of taste! Shall we be 
happy? Oh! Michel is a good fellow on the whole, but 
he can’t be accused of caring too much for his fiancée. 
Madame Béthune said, ‘ He worships you!’ so often 
that I began to be afraid he might love me too much. 
It would be absurd to expect a woman to be passion- 
ately in love with the man she marries, but it is nec- 
essary for a husband to admire his wife a little. Robert 
admires Colette tremendously, yet I don’t believe that 
Colette was ever crazy about him.” 

Then her thought took a different course. 

** Michel spoke of a great deception which left traces 
upon his life. I should like to know the name of the 
‘deception, and if she was very beautiful.— Better look- 
ing than I. I wonder if he thinks me pretty? The 
parting did not trouble him much — nor me either. He 
is very glad to go; I can understand that. Such a 
pleasant journey. When he comes back in the fall, 
we shall be married. How strange! It is comical and 
yet alarming.” 

The young girl frowned. For a moment she was 
absorbed in a vague fear of the new life, then as her 
lashes drooped, she murmured: 

** He will be kind, I am sure he will be kind to me.” 

And very peacefully, thinking of the pleasures Colette 
had promised, she fell asleep. 

What she had said of her quiet youth was true. She 
had nursed her grandmother and uncle with infinite 


126 APIS: “LADY 


tenderness and, while they lived, found pleasure in the 
duties that kept her at home, contenting herself, by 
way of amusements, with “ five o’clock teas,” ‘* dances,” 
games of tennis, and rides on the bicycle or on horse- 
back with young people of her own age. But she had 
known sorrow, then work and servitude, then everything 
suddenly brightened. Suzanne had discovered relatives ; 
she would soon have her own home. How, after having 
felt so sad, could she have failed to give herself up to 
the natural reaction? 

In this Michel had seen correctly, and in other re- 
spects he could hardly be reproached for having carried 
on his study of his pretty cousin’s character somewhat 
in the dark. 

But what he had not known how to fathom was that 
some day, in this soul of a child, a woman’s might 
awaken ; within this undeveloped being a whole world of 
thoughts and feelings might exist, waiting: to reveal 
themselves — like the vital principles of a seed whose 
unfolding was dependent upon certain atmospheric 
conditions — a favourable environment. Was life per- 


haps already dimly stirring beneath the sleeping water? 


iit 


Tur boat for Bergen on which Michel had taken 
passage did not leave Havre until the next morning. 
The young man went to Trouville, dined there, and 
visited a shop for antiques where he had purchased, 
piece by piece, most of the wonders of Norman furni- 
ture in the tower of Saint-Sylvére, but this evening he 
bought nothing. 

Slowly descending the winding streets between rows 
of old houses, the voice of the sea, at first low, gradually 
increased in volume, until it absorbed all the noises of 
the street. 

The shore was dark, and so, too, was the row of shops 
bordering the promenade where, two months later, every 
evening, so many well-known figures would glide to and 
fro. 

The stretch of sand sloped gently to the line of waves 
and, though the tide was high, the beach, stripped of its 
bath-houses, tents, and parasols, looked empty and de- 
serted. 

Michel reached the pier, and leaned idly on the railing. 

Here and there a phosphorescent light shimmered, 
but on this moonless night the sea was clearly visible 
only beneath the lighthouse, which shone like a gem, 
forming a luminous circle on the water whose heaving 
circumference melted into the distance. Gradually 
Michel gave tothe waves certain definite forms, fabulous © 


dragons, reptiles that turned and writhed incessantly. 
127 


128 yaX2 pal oo Dich oe Be BIg 


And in the sound of the waves mingled voices that hissed 
or wailed by turns. 

Other voices blended with the sea, too; sweeter and 
more human voices, that bade farewell and sang of by- 
gone days. 'The waves are great tellers of old tales. 

Suddenly he felt the magnetic attraction of a look 
and, turning his head, met a pair of eyes he knew. A 
woman’s figure was leaning on the railing near him. 

** So you are not in Norway?” came a murmur. 

Conquering his surprise, and perhaps his emotion, 
Michel had already bowed to Comtesse Wronska. 

“JT am going to-morrow,” he answered gently. 

Faustine had reached Trouville the night before with 
some friends who wanted to find a villa for July and, 
that evening, saying she wished to send a telegram, she 
had escaped from the hotel. While explaining these 
things as if apologising for being there, Trémor, in 
spite of himself, looked at her in the ray of light which, 
through a slight change of attitude, now shone upon 
her face. Under her little straw hat, she seemed 
younger and more like the Faustine of former days. 

Why did she thus give the reason of her coming? 
Trémor had supposed himself very far away from her 
at the moment she was breathing at his side when, by 
stretching out his arm he could have touched her dress. 

“You go to-morrow?” the comtesse repeated. 

Yes, Madame,” he answered laconically. 

‘Isnt it a very strange thing? ” she went on slowly. 
*T am here by accident at a time few come. You were 
at Havre to sail, and the same chance led you to spend 


an evening at Trouville "i 


APR LS ay, 129 


She paused, hesitated then, as by an instinctive move- 
ment Michel turned his face toward her, she was silent 
and he did not ask what words had been on her lips. A 
powerful emotion seized him. For an instant he almost 
abandoned. himself to the madness of imagining that he 
had been asleep: all these years and just waked from an 
evil dream. Comtesse Wronska? Who was she? Be- 
side him beat the purd€ heart of Faustine Morel. Were 
there any others in the world except themselves? They 
did not know. They were alone beneath the sky and 
before the sea. 

‘* Michel —” 

It was scarcely a breath, but the name evoked the 
memories of bygone days. 

** Michel, I have not told you. Just now I saw you 
go down toward the shore. My mother was with me; 
she knew that I wanted, that I must speak to you.” 

Without replying, Michel looked at the young widow. 

** Michel,” she went on, “ you have not yet forgiven 
me; I cannot bear your unkindness.” 

Then he remembered that this woman, whose presence 
was so sweet to him, had tortured his heart, and wrath 
seized him. 

** Do you think it was easy to bear the suffering you 
caused me? ” 

She answered timidly: 

* Michel, I was very young — and I had suffered. 
Oh! if you knew the joyless, hopeless life of a poor 
girl, who has but one fate—to work for her living 
: or rather to escape from dying.” 

* Did I offer you this poverty? ” 


130 APRILS- LADY 


Comtesse Wronska’s strange smile hovered around her 
lips. 

** You offered me an income of sixty or eighty thou- 
sand francs, and Comte Wronski fifteen times as much! 
The prospect intoxicated me. I was mad. I thought 
that money could buy everything, even happiness. I 
soon found that I was deceived — irrevocably.” 

She talked for a long time of the emptiness of the 
life which at first had dazzled her, how she had often 
even regretted her former poverty. 

Michel did not interrupt her; he was listening to her 
musical voice without trying to take in the meaning of 
the words. Yet he felt a mournful pleasure in listening 
to the deceitful melody. 

After a moment, however, he made a gesture of wear- 
iness. | 

“Why stir these ashes? One word is enough. You 
did not love me.” 

*¢ Listen, Michel ; you are the only man I ever loved — 
but I did not know, I did not understand —” 

** And I placed you so high,” he murmured without 
answering directly. ‘ My whole life would have been 
devoted to deserving you. You were the most beautiful, 
the purest, the best of women; I worshipped you on my 
knees.” 

Comtesse Wronska shook her head. 

“You worshipped me,” she said, “ but did you love 


* me? No, you loved a woman who had my features; you 


loved in me a conception of your own mind. Ah! why 
do they say that love is blind? On the contrary, true 
love is terribly clear-sighted! It sees defects of charac- 


APRIL LADY 131 


~ ter more clearly than friendship or indifference could do ; 
but it loves in spite of these imperfections, almost on 
account of them, because it loves a human being and not 
an abstraction. You never loved in this way. Then, 
when you perceived your error, love vanished! It was 
the angel, the ideal, the fairy that you loved —and I 
believe you scorn the woman, that is all!” 

She was silent, and the waves sung still more loudly in 
Michel’s ears. Fishing boats were returning with the 
_ tide, their white sails glided through the circle of light 
to vanish in the shadow and appear again nearer port. 
Trémor, his face hidden in his hands, did not seem to 
have heard the comtesse. There was silence; at last she 
asked : 

“Is what I have been told true? Are you going to 
marry? ” 

** It is true,” he replied, without raising his head. 

* To an American? ” 

* To my cousin, Miss Severn-Jackson.” 

* Ah! I did not know you had an American cousin,” 
replied the young widow with a tinge of derision. “I 
congratulate you. The advantage is great.” 

He looked at her almost sternly. 

“Tf you allude to pecuniary advantage, the charge is 
groundless. Miss Severn has no fortune.” 

Faustine lowered her eyes. 

“Then,” she said, dropping the aggressive tone she 
had assumed for an instant and speaking with great sad- 
ness, “ it is she at last, the angel, the fairy? And you 
love her passionately? ” 

Michel turned so abruptly that the comtesse started. 


182 APRIL’S LADY 


*‘ She is like any other young girl,” he said, “ and I 
do not love her. I am marrying because I have grown 
to hate solitude, and would like to have a family ; because 
I am tired of traveling and would like to settle down in 
some place; because I have wasted my life and wish at 
least to try to re-establish it upon a new foundation; 
that is all. Oh! do you suppose that angels and fairies 
can still exist for me? ” 

Wrath had again seized Michel, more nervous, more 
intense. As Faustine listened in silence, he suddenly 
grasped her hands and, in a low voice, whose passionate 
vibrations he could not control, said: 

‘But you have never understood how I loved you! 
Ah! how my whole being belonged to you to dispose of 
by a glance, a word, a breath; how jealous, despairing 
I sometimes was, and with what good reason. And I 
was born to love thus madly, exclusively, passionately, but 
also sacredly, and for my whole life. Then you killed 
love in my heart, or so degraded it that I love no longer, 
shall never love.” 

A stifled cry of entreaty or love: 

** Michel! ” 

And Faustine’s pale face, from which the hat fell back, 
was pressed against Michel’s breast, her beautiful hair 
touched the young man’s lips. He yielded to the charm, 
his arms clasped her shoulders, his lips rested with de- 
light on the tawny perfumed locks that sought his 
caresses. Then he saw the-snare; very gently, with a 
sort of indulgent, sorrowful respect, he thrust Faustine 
away, and for a moment they remained side by side with- 
out daring to speak, their eye upon the sea. 


APRIL'S LADY 133 


At last Faustine murmured: 

“You no longer love me. . . .” 

With the same sad gentleness, he answered, “ No.” 

The memory of poor little Zanne had not even glided 
over his mind, but he knew that he could not give Com- 
tesse Wronska the love of Faustine’s fiancé. 

Comtesse Wronska passed her hand across her fore- 
head, then with a woman’s instinctive movement, arranged 
her hair and hat. 

* Farewell,’ she said. 

* Farewell,’? murmured Michel. 

He would have liked to add that he wished her happi- 
ness, that he would remain her friend, but the words 
failed; he faltered something, and the light figure van- 
ished in the darkness. Michel might have imagined he 
had had a dream, if he had not still felt upon his lips 
the silken caress of the golden hair, and through his 
whole being the emotion aroused by that instant’s em- 
brace. It was the end of the romance and he would fain 
have detained Faustine, perhaps to curse her, but also to 
see and hear her, taste the bitter pleasure of all that 
could no longer be, regrets for the happiness she had not 
desired to bestow — when there was time. 

A verse of a beloved poet, the poet of oe of deep 
sadness, came to his memory: 


“From me you have desired to know, 
Whence comes my love for you. In sooth, 

I love you for this reason. Lo! 
You bear the semblance of my youth!” 


134 APRIL'S LADY 


Michel no longer loved Faustine, but she resembled his 
youth. And when she vanished in the darkness, it was to 
his youth that he believed he was bidding farewell. 

The next day — once more — he left France. 


IV 


B EFORE the train stopped Michel had leaned out of 
the door to receive the welcome of Colette’s smile, and 
having sought in vain upon the almost deserted platform 
her pretty slender figure, he had experienced one of those 
keen, yet somewhat foolish disappointments, to which 
sensitive natures are prone, and which seem so absurdly 
disproportionate when calmly compared with their cause. 

Behind the station, in the shade of a large chestnut 
tree, the Castelflore carriage was waiting; but Michel’s 
unexpected telegram had passed Monsieur and Madame 
Fauvel on their way to Paris to spend the day and even- 
ing. Miss Severn had given the necessary orders. 
These details, which he learned from the coachman, did 
not dispel Michel’s annoyance. 

The wooded road which united the station of Rivailler 
with the tower of Saint-Sylvére reminded him of more 
than one unpleasant hour; often at the end of a some- 
what tiresome day he had rolled over it, weary of distant 
journeys. Then Colette would want to carry him on 
to Castelflore, but the gay life there held little attrac- 
tion for Michel in these days of moral fatigue. Re- 
sisting her affectionate entreaties, he always ended by 
returning to “the dove-cote of Saint-Sylvére,” which, 
though dull and empty by contrast, at least required 
from its occupant neither a white cravat, nor gossip. 

To-day, alas! it had not been necessary to defend 


himself and invent excuses to escape the coaxing invita- 
135 


136 APRIL’S LADY 


tions of Madame Fauvel. It was a queer idea to leave 
the country in the month of July to seek the white 
asphalt! And Suzanne? Why had she remained at 
Castelflore? No doubt she had been afraid of missing 
a garden party at the Sainvals, a five o’clock tea at the 
Pontmaurys, or one of the walks in parties which she had 
often described in her letters to Michel, letters to which 
certain foreign turns of phrase gave a special attraction, 
and which often by an amusing word, the unexpected 
and whimsical summing up of a situation, had brought 
a smile to the lips of the man who received them. Nor 
were they devoid of heart, for they often spoke of Colette 
and the two children with real affection. But they. were 
the letters of a frivolous child. Not a serious reflection, 
not an allusion to the future. 

The dry earth rang under the horses’ hoofs, great 
clouds of dust rose for an instant, then gradually set- 
tled down again through air too still to bear them away. 
The blue sky descended to the horizon, where in the 
opaline distance the green of the fields of oats blended 
with the yellow hue of the wheat. 

The tower of Saint-Sylvére rose at a turn of the road, 
and the carriage soon stopped at the gate. While the 
servants were taking the luggage, Trémor went into the 
garden. The flowering vines seemed to have interlaced 
to protect the fairy slumber of the “ Sleeping Beauty ” ; 
the traveller thought that this abundance of vegetation, 
though he loved it, gave a neglected appearance to his’ 
dwelling. 

He went up the walk whose leafy trees permitted only 
a pale, emerald green light to reach the earth. Then, 


APRIL. LAD 137 


at a sudden turn he saw, framed in the grey stone, 
starred with clematis, Suzanne waiting for him with 
Georges and Nysette. Their little arms were wound 
around Miss Severn’s waist, two curly heads rested 
against the folds of her gown, and she herself was smil- 
ing brilliantly as if she were a part of everything ex- 
panding around her in the summer sunshine. By a 
strange reaction it seemed to Michel the most natural 
thing in the world to find her here to welcome him amid 
the flowers. 

“Oh! you are really kind,’ he murmured, warmly 
pressing Miss Severn’s hands. 

In the study Suzanne told him various little items. 
She had given up going to Paris to attend a luncheon 
for young girls at the Réaults. Then she had thought 
of receiving her cousin in the tower of Saint-Sylvére 
with the children. Antoinette — the old nurse who had 
brought up Michel and Colette — had wished to come 
with them. 

** It seems that this would be more the proper thing,” 
added the young girl. 

Michel looked around him; all the Rouen vases were 
full of roses, on the desk oats and large field daisies rose 
from a green bronze jar. Suzanne answered the glance. 

“* We robbed the garden. Oh! how pretty this virgin 
forest is! You are not vexed, Michel, because we have 
profaned the sanctuary? ” 

“On the contrary, I am very glad of it, and very 
grateful.” 

He left the room to give some orders. Downstairs 
Antoinette was drinking a cup of milk with Jacotte. 


138 APRESS. “LADY 


* You will have a charming wife, Monsieur Michel,” 
she said. ‘* Everybody loves her.” 


Michel’s only answer was a smile. When he returned, 


Suzanne was examining the tapestries. 

“Your dove-cote is delightful,” she said. 

*¢ A little dismal, however.” 

“There are no dismal houses, Michel; there are dismal 
people, that is all.” 

Michel took Nysette in his arms and went from room 
to room, explaining to Suzanne the origin of the ancient 
furniture. 

“You won’t be afraid to live in this old house? ” he 
asked, amused at seeing Miss Severn, so young and 
modern, sitting in a window seat, playing with a spin- 
ning-wheel.’ 

“Three months a year? Not at all. And Castel- 
flore is so near.” 

“Susy will always stay at Castelflore,” said Ny- 
sette. 

Georges, who understood better, smiled scornfully. 

“ Goose,” he said; ** Uncle won’t let her.” 

The inspection of the tower of Saint-Sylvére con- 
tinued. On the lower floor was a large unfurnished hall. 
Michel, annoyed by Suzanne’s allusion to the vicinity of 
Castelflore, made an effort to say pleasantly: 

* You can arrange this room according to your taste, 
if — if you wish to entertain a little.” ' 

“T was thinking of that,” replied the young girl with 
the utmost composure. “ But I should like to have 
antique furniture here similar to the rest, and in my, 
room too. It is impossible to introduce gewgaws! It’s 


APRIL S LADY 139 


quite enough to put in myself. Dear me, what an an- 
achronism! ” 

This pleased Michel, and when they went back to the 
study the understanding was complete. 

“¢ Suppose we should dine with you!” suggested Su- 
zanne, as six o’clock struck. 

A message was sent to Castelflore, and with an air of 
playing at housekeeping, the young girl took her seat 
opposite to Michel. The children laughed and talked, 
delighted with the festivity. 

Suzanne spoke of Robert and Colette, the pleasure she 
had had, the friends she had made. 

** Are you very fond of society? ” asked Michel. 

** Very — though I know little of it.” 

“ Because you know little of it,” he emphasised. 

* Not at all, the more I -know of it, the better I 
like it.” 

Michel was silent, and Georges took up the conversa- 
tion. 

**' You know I am riding horseback,” he announced. 

Then Nysette, with an eagerness that made her lose 
her’ breath, told an incomprehensible story about a 
** child horse ” that was very naughty, and had eaten its 
papa. 

Suzanne’s burst of laughter charmed Michel, while 
Georges overwhelmed the little girl with scorn. She in- 
sisted on the truthfulness of the tale. Paul Réault had 
told her, and had even known the poor papa horse. 

“JT had thought a little of dining at the Réaults, I 
felt so lonely this evening,” Michel remarked. ‘ Do 
you see them often?” he added. 


140 AP RIES UADY. 


The Réaults? She was crazy about the Réaults. 
How charming Thérése was! Simone Chazé was only a 
child, but such a darling! And Paul was an excellent 
fellow, and Monsieur Réault a delightful man! This 
enthusiastic praise put the finishing touches to Michel’s 
good-humour. 

“IT am neglecting my duty,” suddenly exclaimed the 
young girl; ‘I haven’t enquired about your journey. 
There are travellers who would not forgive it.” 

** Oh,” said the young man mournfully, “ travellers 
like to talk of their journeys only to have the opportu- 
nity to speak of themselves.” 

It isn’t that — but I have had your letters. They 
were very interesting. I felt as if I were reading an 
article in the Revue des Deux Mondes,’” observed 
Suzanne with the composure which often left it doubtful 
whether she was jesting or speaking seriously. 

Wondering whether the remark was intended to praise 
the writer, or criticise the lover, Michel bowed. She 
went on: 

“It has not given me any great desire to visit the 
North Cape.” 

Then, still influenced by the country he had just left, 
Michel defended its melancholy charm, describing the 
marvellous light, the wonderful vegetation and, from 
nature, he passed to human beings. 

Suzanne listened, replying just enough for Michel to 
know 'that he was being understood. Hitherto he had 
made his fiancée talk much more than he had talked him- 
self. 

But he soon stopped, and began to laugh. 


29 


APRILS. EADY 141 


“ Come,” he said, “ I have fallen into the common cus- 
tom of travellers, telling my adventures influenced by my 
imagination. Perhaps you might be surprised if you 
should go to Norway.” 

Dinner over, Michel unpacked some of the articles he 
had brought, wood carvings, embroideries in soft, har- 
monious colours, wrought by the peasant women. Su- 
zanne flushed with pleasure when they were presented 
to her. 

But the carriage had already been waiting several 
minutes. Standing before the glass, Miss Severn was 
adjusting her veil. 

“So you were not shocked by this visit? ” she asked 
over her shoulder. ‘‘ People are so queer in France! At 
first I wondered all day long whether I was doing the 
proper thing. Then I made up my mind to be myself ! 
Oh! I shall shock you; you will see; if not to-day, to- 
morrow! ” 

Michel protested, for he had really spent a charming 
evening. 

The young girl had bent her head slightly to fasten 
her glove; suddenly she looked him full in the face. 

“ Michel,” she said, * will you make a bargain with me? 
Since it is agreed that we are not romantic lovers, let us 
be good comrades. You will see that I can be nice when 
I wish; I am not stupid either — and you won’t bore 
me; no, I don’t believe that you will bore me at all. Then 
you will often laugh, as you have done this evening, and 
it will be an excellent thing for you to escape the blue 
devils. For you have blue devils, oh! you needn’t deny 
it. We will walk and talk together and, as we shall not 


142 APRIL'S LADY 


be obliged to think only of ourselves, we can be agree- 
able to everybody and shall pass for charming engaged 
people — which will quite upset the regulation ideas. 
Is it agreed? ” 

She held out her little hand; he pressed it, smiling. 

** It is agreed,” he said. 

The trampling of the horses’ hoofs died away in the 
distance. Michel sat down under the trees. The quiet 
resolutions he had made while watching the veiled peaks 
of the Norwegian mountains were strengthened in his 
mind. He would devote himself to the happiness of this 
child, would try to develop in her a more intense moral 
and intellectual life, but he would be indulgent to her 
youth and gaiety. 

Comrades, Suzanne had said at parting. So be it. 
Escaping the aberrations of love, they would see each 
other clearly, undazzled by any artificial light. And 
perhaps this comradeship might have a certain charm. 

The next day at Castelflore, during a private conversa- 
tion with her brother, Colette spoke of Suzanne. 

“‘ It was a nice idea to go and dine with you. Little 
Zanne is extraordinary! She goes hither and yon on 
horseback or a bicycle. Among the poor people she 
knew at Précroix she has adopted a mother and children 
whom every week, no matter what the weather may be, 
she goes to help. She has taken a great fancy to Thé- 
rése Réault and almost every day she walks through the 
woods alone to spend an hour at the Villa des Saules; 
she says everything that comes into her head, and all so 
simply, so naturally, that everybody takes it as a matter 
of course. Yet, in spite of her Yankee manners, she is — 


APRIL S.-LADY 143 


French to her finger tips. A very fine copy of Aunt 
Régine! Ah! you have given me a lovely sister-in-law! ” 

‘** Perhaps it would be more correct to say that you will 
have given me a charming wife,” Michel corrected, smil- 
ing. “ But Suzanne and I are excellent friends. She 
is certainly rather gay for me, and I am somewhat 
domestic for her, but with some concessions on both 
sides, this difference in tastes will be of small impor- 
tance.” 

** Ah! so much the better! On seeing Susy enjoying 
herself so openly, I have often wondered whether her high 


spirits might not be a source of vexation between 


you.” 

“Why? I haven’t the slightest desire to be a wet 
blanket. And later, I confess, I shall rely upon your 
continuing to chaperon her in society. Come, Colette, 
she is a young, merry child; am I to condemn her to the 
owl-like existence I like to lead myself? ” 

* You will be an ideal husband,” said Colette, clap- 
ping her hands. 

Meanwhile Suzanne entered, in a riding habit. 

* Aha! Something told me that the horse I saw in 
the courtyard was yours,” she cried. ‘‘ You will go with 
meP 33 

* But, Suzanne,” said Colette, assuming her maternal 
air, “ I don’t know that it is proper.” 

The young girl folded her arms and, looking Madame 
Fauvel in the face, repeated: 

“ Proper! When Michel and I are cousins? And 
even engaged into the bargain? Oh, that would be ab- 
surd!” 


144 APRS bad Y. 


She was so comical in her indignation, that the young 
man laughed. 

“Come, Colette,” he said, “a good idea! It really 
seems to me that in the country — and then Suzanne 
is an American. We can indulge her in one little 
‘ Americanism’ more.” 

Colette laughed too. 

Oh! the fact is,” she concluded resignedly, “ one 
more or less —” 


Vv 


May BETHUNE had reasoned: 

** Suzanne is an American girl, and Michel has dropped 
from some little known planet. By what right should 
French conventionalities be imposed upon them? ” 

At Rivailler, people reasoned like May Béthune. 
Knowing the social tastes of Miss Severn and the seden- 
tary habits of Trémor, the shyness of the latter, the per- 
fect independence of the former, they were no more 
surprised to meet Miss Severn in society with Colette on 
days when her lover did not appear than to meet her in 
the woods or on the highroad, alone with him, when 
Colette was afraid to brave the sun. Society was not 
disturbed and continued to receive with open arms, not 
only Suzanne who was faithful to it, but Michel, when 
he condescended to tear himself away from Saint- 
Sylvére. 

To account for the infrequency of his appearance, 
Colette’s brother pleaded important work to be finished. 
The famous history of the Hétheens was still in an em- 
bryonic condition, but Trémor had brought it up to his 
last notes of travel, and this labor of recalling a recent 
past had bewitched him. When he had written the last 
word of a long chapter, the hospitality of Robert and 
Colette, the children’s mirth and Suzanne’s smiling grace 
rested him. Sometimes he read to the young girl what 
he had written in the morning, and she listened with 


genuine pleasure. 
145 


146 APHIS: LADY. 


In society, that is at the evening parties, dinners, or 
morning entertainments which country life renders more 
simple and more free, Michel resigned himself to enter 
into the gaiety, and even went so far as to arrange 
charades. He took part in “ innocent” games and, in 
order not to distinguish himself decidedly from other 
young men of the neighbourhood, he occasionally talked 
with Madame de Lorge, a consolable widow, who was 
thought amusing, apparently because she allowed out- 
rageous things to be said to her. 

With Suzanne herself, Michel perhaps exaggerated his 
withdrawal, lest he might become tiresome. When, re- 
calling his privileges as her future husband when etiquette 
forbade him to forget them, he came to place himself at 
her disposal in any way, she usually greeted him with a 
smile whose friendliness was mingled with surprise. The 
smile meant: ‘Oh! there you are! I am very glad.” 
This did not vex him, on the contrary, these youthful 
high spirits sometimes amused him. But the happiest 
moments of his ** comradeship ” with Suzanne he owed to 
the interviews alone with her, at which no one thought of 
being shocked. 

Miss Severn was an excellent caus: three times 
a week she rode with her fiancé about the environs of 
Rivailler, and these peaceful morning hours were to 
Suzanne and Michel like a truce to the pleasures of one, 
and the toil of the other. 

Yet Trémor had difficulty in becoming accustomed to 
the somewhat “ transatlantic”? manners of the young 
girl. 

For instance, it was hard for him to make no objection 


APRIL. _ LADY. 147 


to the lonely walks through the fields and woods. A 
hundred times Colette had proposed a chaperon, but the 
little American rebelled against all restraint of that kind. 
Michel was more reluctant to oppose her in this special 
case because he was touched by the constancy with which 
Suzanne weekly gave to a poor family what was better 
than money, a few hours of her joyous life. One day she 
had explained her theories about charity. 

“You see, Michel, charitable institutions are not 
enough; they must be aided by the individual practice of 
an intelligent charity which would mean that each person 
should help a limited number —not only aid them, but 
devote to them a little of his time and his heart. I am 
not rich; I might give here and there a ten sou piece, a 
pair of stockings, a little gown. Instead, I have adopted 
the Michaud family, and give to them all the money, 
clothes, and time I can bestow. It is not much, poor as 
they are—the grandfather and granddaughter work 
hard to take the places of the dead father and mother — 
but at least I have the joy of making their burden 
lighter. They are glad to see me; I give them advice 
— yes, sir, very good advice. I scold the children 
when they are dirty, sometimes I wash them. Meanwhile 
Marcienne, the oldest girl, who is a very skilful lacemaker, 
works and works. It seems that the children are more 
obedient at school since I have looked at the reports, and 
the grandfather thinks the house is pleasanter since I 
taught Marcienne to keep the rooms tidy and put flowers 
-in the pots. The grandfather likes to have flowers in 
the house.” 

** Yes, yes,” Susy added, seeing Michel smile, “ he likes 


148 APRIE?S: sbADY. 


it. I am not poetical, yet I think it does no harm to 
mingle a little simple poesy in the lives of poor people. 
Yes, Michel, I know I have done those poor Michauds 
some good, and through it I have given myself so much 
pleasure.” 

This profession of faith enchanted Michel. The doll 
had a heart. But he showed himself less resigned in 
accepting the Americanisms of his fiancée, when he saw 
her one evening, after a dinner party at Castelflore, 
dance the skirt dance before twenty people. 

This skirt dance, whose figures resembled very closely 
those of Loie Fuller, was one of Miss Severn’s great 
talents. She danced it without effort, lightly, airily, as 
a butterfly hovers. And in her long floating mauve 
foulard whose width of more than twenty yards, rising 
with the movements of her arms, framed her like wings, 
she really gave the idea of a butterfly, a large pretty 
butterfly. 

It was impossible to deny the charm of this graceful 
creature, impossible, too, not to admire the exquisite 
form which the wide silk gown enveloped so closely. 
Michel could not help acknowledging this charm; but he 
remembered that others were there; he thought he read in 
their eyes what he himself was feeling, and the idea was 
hateful, causing almost the impression of physical suf- 
fering. 

A moment later, chance brought Susy near the young 
man, and she saw that he did not share the general en- 
thusiasm. 

“ How sulky you are,’ she remarked gaily, still ex- 
cited by her recent triumph. __ 


APRIL St “LADY 149 


Michel was staring fixedly at the floor; he raised his 
head. 

** Listen, Susy,” he said; ‘‘ the dance displeased me so 
much that it would be very difficult to compliment you 
upon it.” 

** The skirt dance shocks you! But one sees scarcely 
anything else in every drawing-room.” 

* Possibly, but I confess that until now I have never 
seen it except at the Folies-Bergére.” 

Miss Severn laughed in rather a vexed way. 

“Ts it ugly? ” 

* No, it is far too pretty.” 

“You complain that it is too good? ” she said heed- 
lessly. 

Michel looked at her and a faint smile hovered around 
his lips, while an expression somewhat difficult to define 
sparkled in his brown eyes. 

** Precisely,” he assented. 

A flush tinged Miss Severn’s face, and she shook her 
head like a child, laughing merrily. 

* Will you do me the favor,” Michel went on, very 
seriously this time, “ not to dance it again? ” 

** Will you be very, very glad? ” 

** Extremely glad.” 

_ And you will be very, very nice in return? ” 

** As nice as I can be, yes.” 

* Well, then, I won’t dance the skirt dance any more, 
for the present at any rate.” . 

Michel marvelled at this submission. He thought that 
patient gentleness would conquer the little eccentricities 
of his fiancée, and congratulated himself on his firmness. 


150 APRIE‘S: LADY. 


But he did not understand — did Suzanne herself ? — 
that all his firmness would have been vain. If Michel 
had triumphed, it was due to a scarcely expressed compli- 
ment, which she had apparently been able to read in the 
eyes of the austere knight of Saint-Sylvére. 

Michel usually chose to dine at Castelflore on the few 
days when Colette had invited no other guests. 

One evening as he entered the little drawing-room, 
Madame Fauvel asked with some excitement, if he had 
met Suzanne. 

“Suzanne? Why, no; has she gone out? It is going 
to rain in a moment.” 

** She is at the Michauds, has been there I don’t know 
how long, poor little girl! I was beginning to be anx- 
ious when little Louis came to say that his grandmother 
had died suddenly and Suzanne did not wish to leave his 
sisters and himself until the return of their grandfather. 
The horses are being harnessed: I hope Suzanne will not 
start before the carriage arrives.” 

“ What a brave little philanthropist,” cried Monsieur 
Fauvel. 

** J think she carries philanthropy, and especially in- 
dependence, a little too far,” muttered Trémor. 

Colette made a gesture of complete helplessness, and 
Trémor began to talk with Robert about other things; 
nevertheless, when the carriage was ready, he rose. 

“IT am going for her,” he said. 

Mere Michaud was in her last sleep on the bed where 
for years she had languished. The light of two candles 
made the line of her profile quiver against the white, 
flower-strewn pillow. Pére Michaud and Marcienne were 


APRIL'S: LADY 151 


kneeling in prayer beside the bed. Suzanne sat near the 
closed window. She looked very pale. 

Michel paused with uncovered head, and silent lips, 
his face showing the deep emotion which is a prayer in 
the presence of death. Then he went to Suzanne. 

** T thank you for coming,” she said ina low tone. “A 
friend of Marcienne will watch to-night. I can go.” 

At the murmur of words, Pére Michaud and Marcienne 
had risen. Both were weeping. Michel shook hands 
with them, saying little, but speaking very kindly. He 
had already promised the help which must be given to the 
poor before they can weep in peace. 

Now he thought only of Suzanne, whose pallor alarmed 
him. Promptly, without her aiding him by a single 
movement, he wrapped her in a cloak, and drew her out 
of the house. _ 

Still silent, Miss Severn leaned back in a corner of the 
carriage. The horses started. 

** What asad day! Colette was anxious about you.” 

Trémor had uttered the words without a thought of 
reproach. With a gesture of extreme weariness Suzanne 
stopped him. 

‘I did what I could to prevent anxiety. I sent little 
Louis as soon as possible. I could not leave those three 
children alone with their dying grandmother —I did 
what I could.” 

“Why, my dear child,” cried Michel, “I am not re- 
proaching you for anything. Only it seems to me that 
you have relied too much upon your strength.” 

She uttered a heavy sigh then, in the same low tone she 
had used before, she began to say that when she reached 


152 AFRIL’S. LADY: 


the Michauds’, the old woman, who had been ill since 
morning, was dying. Suzanne knew it at once. Louis 
was sent for the village doctor, Pére Michaud, and the 
Curé, but the end had been speedy and terrible. Before 
Pére Michaud’s return, all was over. Marcienne at first 
refused to believe it. She kissed her grandmother, called 
to her — 

The poor girl interrupted herself. 

“Oh! Michel,” she murmured, “if you knew! It 
seemed as if—I was losing my grandmother and 
Uncle John for the second time,— as if —I felt alone, 
so alone — I —” 

A tearless sob shook her whole body, and turning sud- 
denly, she hid her face against the side of the carriage. 

** Susy, my poor little ig 

With an instinctive movement Michel caught her from 
the corner where she was trying to stifle her grief, and 
pressed her closely to him. It was not a caress — at 
least consciously — but the compassion of the strong for 
the weak, the firm hand stretched to the fragile one. 

Suzanne yielded to the embrace like a child. For 
hours she had struggled against her memories, her - 
woman’s nervousness. It was sweet to be in her turn 
calmed with soothing words. 

The carriage rolled on. From time to time, the light 
from a house flashed through the windows; the rain fell 
steadily, mournfully. 

**T was very nervous, very foolish,” Suzanne at last 
murmured. 

And, releasing herself, she passed her hand over her 
forehead and eyes. 


APRIL Ss -EADS 153 


“ You are better? ” asked Michel anxiously. 

6 IVieS=37 

“You will promise to be sensible this evening, not to 
think too much of things that give you pain, to try to 
tell yourself that, though nothing can restore those whom 
you have lost, you have new relatives who love you, watch 
over you, wish you to be happy? ” 

ee Yes.” 

He gazed at her intently in the dusk, trying to divine 
the expression of her face. The carriage stopped. 

As both were crossing the vestibule, Suzanne said: 

“T have not thanked you, Michel. And you have 
been a real friend to me — kind, so kind! ” 

He stopped, and taking Suzanne’s hand as he had done 
in the carriage, held it clasped in his and, smiling faintly, 
gazed at his fiancée with a somewhat strange look. 

** It is you who are divinely kind,” he replied. 


VI 


6é 

ja RAY, Mademoiselle, keep quiet a moment, just 
one moment. It wearies you to pose? I understand 
that, you are so vivacious! Oh! deuce take it; it is the 
expression of the eyes that it is so impossible to catch!” 

“* Come, drink your coffee, Languille!” cried Trémor 
in a tone of impatience. 

“You are very ungrateful, Michel,” said Susy re- 
proachfully. ‘Is it your place to reproach Monsieur 
Languille for his eagerness to finish my portrait? ” 

**T am not reproaching him for anything, but I want 
him to drink his coffee while it is hot. They are leaving 
the table.” 

They really were leaving the table, but Languille was 
just in the mood to work. Suzanne was posing, her hair 
ruffled, her eyes sparkling, her lips quivering as if a 
laugh or a song had just left them. Her fair com- 
plexion, her grey linen gown, the roses in her hand, the 
soft green of the climbing vines on the trellised piazza, 
harmonised with the exquisite delicacy of all the tones. 

For several minutes Miss Severn remained scrupulously 
motionless, then she thought she had done enough. 

*T am stifling, Monsieur Languille,” she said, moving 
in her willow chair. 

**'Take a moment’s rest,”’ said the artist. 

In Paris and Rivailler Languille was a constant visitor 
at the Fauvel home. Colette and Michel had always 


known this friend of their uncle. 
154 


APRIL’S LADY 155 


Fifty-five years of age, not tall, and somewhat un- 
gainly, Languille by no means realised the conventional 
romantic type of the artist. Very social, he liked society 
in general, but he preferred to everything else the com- 
panionship of women, young or old, but gracious, intelli- 
gent, and distinguished. Ah! how fervently he admired 
these charming friends, finding, as if by instinct, compli- 
ments older than himself, which made them laugh and 
. yet flattered them. 

Suzanne seemed exquisite to Languille. On seeing 
her, he recalled the words of Shakespeare’s Beatrice: 
* When I was born a star danced in the sky!” 

“She is youth, gaiety, purity itself,’ he said to Co- 
lette. ‘‘ The presence of this Miss Spring refreshes and 
brightens me! ” 

So he asked permission to give his friend Trémor the 
portrait of this Miss Spring. 

* Oh! how sulky you look!” said the young girl, pass- 
ing in front of Michel, who was turning over some illus- 
trated papers. 

She went into the smoking room, took some coffee, and 
appeared again on the threshold holding a bottle. 

“Tam going to offer you, from my white hand, a little 
Chartreuse, Mr. Artist; you have deserved it, haven’t 
you? ” she said, with her droll little accent. 

“If the favor of being served by you can be deserved, 
Mademoiselle,” replied Languille, who had just set down 
his empty cup. 

Michel had entered the smoking room too. 

* Come and smoke a cigar, Languille,” he cried. 

‘* My dear friend, the cigar will make me ill.” 


156 APRIL’S LADY 


“ A cigarette, then? ” 

‘No, thank you, I no longer smoke. And then, these 
curls still lack lightness — and I don’t need the subject 
just this moment,” replied the painter, obstinately re- 
turning to his water colours. 

** But you have plenty of time.” 

“Come, Michel, let poor Languille alone,” said the 
laughing voice of Colette. ‘I mean he shall do as he 
likes, idle or work, smoke or despise cigars at his pleasure. 
He is at home at Castelflore.” 

“ Thank you, dear Madame; thank you! ” 

He had already taken up his brushes again. Now he 
addressed Suzanne, while Michel sat down in the smoking 
room near the door. 

“Good Michel, always attentive to his old friend! 
Pose again one moment more, please, Mademoiselle. I 
said yesterday to Monsieur Lancry, speaking of you, 
‘What a charming couple! How delightful it is to find 
engaged people tenderly united, people who love each 
other.’ A little more profile, I beg you.” 

“May I look? Oh! how pretty it is, much prettier 
than I, Monsieur Languille! ” 

** Oh, Mademoiselle, what heresy! ” 

* Well, I will be good.” 

** Thank you; capital! A sunbeam on yourhair! A 
little to the left, there! — You take long rides with 
Michel? ” 

** On horseback, yes, very often.” 

* Tt is charming. Rivailler has some exquisite spots! 
And Michel so thoroughly understands the simple nature 
of the country.” 


APRIL'S . LAD ¥. 157 


* Does Michel love simple nature so much? ” 

* As an artist, Mademoiselle, and the artist is inter- 
ested in a thousand things the ordinary observer does not 
even notice. A blade of grass, a sunbeam, and his whole 
being thrills! Don’t move your hand, for Heaven’s 
sake! Oh! Mademoiselle, what a mingled delight and 
martyrdom it is to paint you! What a delight to attain 
the ideal merely by reproducing reality, but what a mar- 
tyrdom to find this reality as impossible to render as the 
ideal.” 

‘You are really absurd over this portrait, my dear 
friend!” said Michel’s voice, vainly trying to assume a 
jesting tone. 

* Michel is right, Languille,” chimed in Monsieur 
Fauvel very cordially ; “ don’t desert us all for Susy!” 

“ Wait, my friends, wait. Just one moment,” an- 
swered Languille. 

* Michel,” called Suzanne, “* come and admire.”’ 

Michel obeyed, and though with a somewhat bad 
grace, addressed a few compliments to the artist. 

The clock struck half past two. 

“ The Pontmaurys and the Réaults are coming to play 
croquet and tennis,” exclaimed Suzanne. 

Languille started. 

“The Pontmaurys! Madame Réault! So soon! I 
did not know it! I must go and wash my hands,” he 
cried. ‘‘ Mademoiselle, I thank you for your patience.” 

Taking Suzanne’s hand, he raised it to his lips. 

** You are angelic,” he added, as he went away. 

When he had gone Michel, with folded arms, planted 
himself in front of Suzanne. 


158 APRESS bADY 


‘* How many times have you heard the story of the 
blade of grass and the sunbeam, how many times? ” he 
asked with a sort of violence. 

“ Why, this is the first time.” 

“ The first time! ” 

“Certainly, the first time! Poor, poor dear Lan- 
guille, you treated him roughly. It is too bad. And 
I love him very much.” 

“T love him just as much as you do. But we'll see, 
when you have heard the blade of grass and the sunbeam 
fifty times! Besides, he has a way of talking to women 
and young girls which I always disliked.” 

* Languille? ” 

“Yes, Languille. These eternal madrigals. And 
that way of kissing your hand! Was it proper? How- 
ever, it amuses you, let us say no more about it.” 

Suzanne burst into a peal of laughter. 

“Could you be jealous of Languille?” she cried. 
“ Of Languille, you! Oh! if it were again of —” 

“ Of whom, if you please? ” interrupted Trémor, this 
time exasperated. 

The young girl looked at him with surprise. She 
knew from what she had heard and even already in other 
ways, Michel’s fits of ill-humour, but this outburst in ~ 
regard to Languille bewildered her. 

*T don’t know,” she answered; “‘ never mind whom, 
but — oh! poor man, he thought us so united! ” 

“‘T presume it is no affair of his whether we are united 
or not.” 

The Pontmaurys’ automobile rolled noisily into the 
courtyard. Miss Severn rose. 


APRILS: LADY 153 


*‘ It is the first time we have quarrelled,” she said with 
dignity. ‘* I thought you were more courteous.” 

Susy had no leisure to devote to reflection; Madame 
Réault arrived shortly after the Pontmaurys, and she took 
her friends at once to the water colour. 

‘It is pretty, isn’t it? He has made my mouth too 
large, but it is pretty.” 

** It is charming, Suzanne, a little masterpiece. What 
a delicate artist this Languille is! ” 

Suzanne let herself drop on the bamboo sofa, laughing 
crazily. 

“ Thérése, my dear Thérése, Michel is jealous of Lan- 
guille! ” 

“Of Languille,” repeated Madame Réault, laughing 
too. 

Miss Severn gaily related what had occurred. 

*¢ Still, Michel is really angry,” she concluded, with a 
less triumphant manner. ‘“ He was wrong, so I shall 
make no advances and, as he certainly will not, it will be 
comical,” 

Madame Réault fixed her velvety eyes on the young 
girl. 

** May I be very frank in my friendship for you, 
Susy? ” 

** Qh! yes.” 

* Well then, don’t try to establish your share of the 
wrong, and Monsieur Trémor’s. Just slip your hand 
into your fiancé’s and say: ‘I think you were a little un- 
just but, without intending it, I caused you pain, and I 
cannot bear the idea.? You'll see that he will no longer 
be angry.” 


160 ADRS: BADY 


“Yet —” the young girl began. 

Colette, Languille, and the Pontmaurys, then Mon- 
sieur Fauvel and Michel came out on the piazza, and 
farther confidential conversation became impossible. 

“JT thought you were going back to Saint-Sylvére,” 
said Suzanne as Michel also turned toward the croquet 
grounds. 

**T have changed my mind,” he answered drily. 

In the course of the game, as Languille forgot his 
turn then, confused by Michel’s censure, missed an arch, 
Gaston de Pontmaury commented on the young man’s 
ill-humour. 

“'The best friends quarrel at croquet,” answered 
Suzanne. 

Did Michel really feel resentment against the innocent 
Languille. Susy, not at all sulky herself, detested it in 
others, and that evening when Michel dined at Castel- 
flore, the idea which had amused her roused her vexation. 
Let Languille annoy Michel, that was allowable, but that 
Michel should vent his irritation upon Suzanne was 
abominable! Conclusion: Why had not this tiresome 
Languille stayed at home? 

The young girl thought sorrowfully of the gay, happy 
month which had followed her fiancé’s return from Nor- 
way. She remembered Michel’s affectionate kindness the 
day of poor Mére Michaud’s death, and the new feeling 
of absolute confidence which had softened her grief. 
Then, almost instantly, everything changed. Day by 
day Michel became more sullen— and also more in- 
clined to society. He now rarely shunned the recep- 
tions at Castelflore, but the more he went into society the 


APRIL'S: LADY 161 


less he appeared to like it. It was easy to see that if 
certain persons as, for instance, Jacques Réault and his 
wife, found favor in his eyes, other intimate members of 
the Castelflore circle had inspired a sort of antipathy. 
He had taken a dislike to Paul Réault, never missed an 
opportunity of contradicting poor Raymond Desplans, 
and could not endure Languille. 

The merest trifle irritated Michel. The little 
“« Americanisms ” he had formerly overlooked were con- 
demned as unseemly eccentricities. And never an af- 
fectionate glance, never a compliment, never a pleas- 
ant word. What Michel wanted was a very quiet, very 
reserved little wife, a comrade, a friend, yes; but a friend 
who lived and breathed for him alone. Michel’s prom- 
ised wife was pretty, and gay and attractive, and she 
would make herself beautiful, and she would laugh, and 
she would be admired! What harm was there in that! 

To be angry about Languille! 

“We must, we must make peace,” Suzanne repeated 
to herself, the more unwilling to let the sun set upon 
Trémor’s wrath because the young man was to leave the 
next morning for a three days’ absence. 

** But how are we to be reconciled? How?” she con- 
tinued to herself. 

Poor kind Thérése! How little she knew Michel. 

Yet after dinner when Trémor, as usual, went out 
on the terrace to smoke, she joined him, leaning near 
him on the balustrade. 

* What am I to do?” she thought. And she again 
remembered Thérése’s advice. It would have been easy 
to follow. Michel was standing with one hand rest- 


162 APRIT?S, LADY 


ing on the stone; there was nothing more simple than 
to do as Thérése had said. For an instant Susy was 
tempted to risk it. 

She laid her hand within a few inches of the young 
man’s. Oh! dear, they seemed made to clasp each 
other. And after all, it would not be the first time that 
the little one found itself enclosed in the large one. 
Suzanne again hesitated, but the courage she longed 
for would not come. No, she must try some other way. 
So she bravely made the first commonplace remark that 
crossed her mind. 

** Michel,” she said, ** can I read Theuriet’s novel? ” 

** Which one, my dear? Theuriet has written a great 
many,” answered Michel drily. 

“The last one,” replied the young girl pleasantly. 

66 Well? 39 

**T asked you if I could read it; Colette reproaches 
me for not keeping up with anything.” 

* T don’t know; I have not read it.” 

Michel had begun to smoke again; at the end of a 
few minutes Suzanne continued: 

** You know that Pépa is sick? ” 

“Your mare? Yes, I saw her myself to-day, but it 
will be nothing serious.” 

Another somewhat lengthy silence. 

** Michel, I think Madame Réault perfectly lovely; 
‘the more I know her, the better I like her.”’ 

** Ah! so much the better.” . 

** We shall see a great deal of them in Paris, shall we 
not, when — when we are married? ” 


«“ Who?” 


APRIL’S LADY 163 


“The Réaults.” 

“If you wish.” 

Time was advancing, but not Suzanne’s affairs. 
Michel was soon to leave. The young girl vaguely felt 
that something, some bond would be broken between 
her future husband and herself, if they separated in this 
way. 

** Michel,” she said suddenly, “ how unjust you were 
to poor Languille at croquet!” 

** He is crazy to play and doesn’t know how to hold 
a mallet,” replied the young man, as if to win games of 
croquet had been the most important interest in his life. 

“TJ did not tell you, but we needed an eighth person.” 

“* A fine reason! I could have played two balls.” 

“ Come, Michel,” said the young girl gently, “ con- 
fess that you do not care so much about croquet as all 
that, and that you were in a bad humour.” 

Michel flung his cigarette away impatiently. 

** Suzanne, we have already quarrelled once on account 
of this— of Languille. I grant that I had a rather 
foolish touch of anger, but you misconstrued my words.” 

“Very well, let us not discuss the matter. Only I 
should not wish to have any cloud between us for so 
‘trivial a cause, Michel.” 

“Susy, what vexed me was your saying that I was 
jealous. Jealous, I, of Languille! Besides, I am not 
of a jealous disposition,” he added calmly, almost be- 
lieving it for the moment. 

“Well, everything is forgotten, isn’t it? We are 
friends? ” 

** Friends, Susy.” 


164 APRIL’S LADY 


He took and pressed the hand she extended, so the 
conversation ended as it should have begun, but it was 
not at all the same thing, and Susy felt it. 

Michel’s reflections, as he walked back to the tower 
of Saint-Sylvére, were anything but optimistic. The 
evening he saw his fiancée beside the death bed of a poor 
woman, his own heart had seemed very narrow beside 
this child’s, so widely open to human sympathy. But 
the next day the young girl who had thanked him so 
sweetly in the vestibule of Castelflore had danced the 
“skirt dance,” was passionately fond of pretty gowns 
and waltzing, and would never have married a man with- 
out a fortune. 

To understand her better Michel had desired to see 
Suzanne in society. Now he was fully convinced. 
Miss Severn was only a coquette, an infernal little co- 
quette, intoxicated with delight at her own charms. 
Michel abhorred coquettes, and had unconsciously al- 
lowed Susy to perceive something of this feeling. He 
had astonished and vexed the young girl —and had 
she not imagined that he was jealous! Jealous of 
Languille, the little fool! 

Meanwhile, Michel was walking toward Saint-Syl- 
vére, weary of Suzanne, and terribly weary of himself. 
And he regretted his quarrel with Miss Severn and, 
above all, the peace of last year. 

What did it matter if Suzanne was a flirt? Had he 
not suspected it even at the time of their affectionate 
comradeship? Was not Colette a coquette, too? Had 
he, like other men, chosen his life-companion? No, a 
stupid fatality had forced her upon him. 


APRIL'S” LADY 165 


So he would let Suzanne do as she pleased. As for 
worrying over a little brainless fool, trying to reform 
her education or her character — never! 

And after having long pursued this circle of ideas, 
Michel, believing himself wiser, went to Paris and spent 
three days there. 


Vil 


Derive these three days, drives, visits, dinners fol- 
lowed so closely that Susy had little time for thought. 

The morning of the fourth one, Colette decided to 
invite the Réaults to dine that evening. Suzanne took 
charge of the matter, and refusing any escort, as usual, 
set off seated on the high cushion of her little carriage, 
driving the ponies herself. 

When Miss Severn opened the door of the Réault 
drawing-room, her eyes sparkled like stars under her 
big hat lined with white tulle. 

“From what pretty picture painted at the beginning 
of the century have you descended, Mademoiselle? ” 
asked Jacques Réault gaily. 

‘¢ Flatterer! ” 

She held out her hand to Jacques with a smile, then 
she saw Raymond Desplans, Madame Sainval’s cousin, 
and there was another clasp of hands and another smile. 

“ How is Thérése? ” Suzanne asked. ‘* No, thank 
you, I won’t sit down, I am going upstairs. But first 
learn the cause of my morning call: Monsieur and 
Madame Fauvel beg Monsieur and Madame Réault, 
Mademoiselle Chazé, and Monsieur Paul Réault to 
do them the honour of dining at Castelflore this even- 
ing.” 

Jacques hesitated. 

“Your invitation is terribly tempting, Mademoiselle, 


yet I fear we must give up the pleasure.” 
166 


APR GS: coy 167 


“ec Why? 9 

“We dined at Chesnaie Friday, at Castelflore Satur- 
day, with the Riéges Sunday, and Monday we had the 
pleasure of receiving our friends here. Now this is 
Tuesday.” 

* People go to the country to rest,” observed Desplans 
philosophically. 

** At least they have that praiseworthy intention,” 
Monsieur Réault replied, “ and that is why I think it 
would not be very sensible for Thérése and Simone to 
go out again this evening. Alas! my responsibilities as 
head of the family compel me to be very frank.” 

“ Far too much so, sir, but I will see Thérése and, if 
she refuses, I will quarrel with you.” 

As Miss Severn went toward the door, she glanced 
toward Raymond Desplans. 

“We have received Madame Sainval’s invitation; 
what a delightful idea, this green and mauve ball! ” 

** Mauve for the young married women, pale green for 
the young girls, green and mauve for the room decora- 
tions, green and mauve for the German.” 

* Oh! there will be a German!” said Suzanne, turn- 
ing back. 

“A delightful German, Mademoiselle; I can speak of 
it with more certainty because I am to have the pleasant 
task of leading it with my cousin Marguerite.” 

“ Dear me, what fun it must be to lead a German!” 
cried Suzanne, so earnestly that both men began to 
laugh. 

* Oh, Mademoiselle,” said Desplans, “ if I could only 
have chosen my partner! But since that could not be, 


168 ABRIELZAS. LADY 


will you do me the honour of giving me your first 
waltz? ” 

“ Willingly.” 

Then, shaking her finger at Monsieur Réault, who 
rushed forward to attend her to Thérése’s room: 

“ Stay, stay, I know the way,” she said; “I want to 
talk with Thérése alone! ” 

But Madame Réault made almost the same reply as 
her husband. 

** Four days in succession — and we have led this life 
for two months. It is terrible, my dear.” 

** Colette will scold me, I warn you.” 

‘‘ Has anyone ever been able to scold you?” 

“Of course there are people who scold me; think of 
Michel.” 

“ Oh! I don’t believe that!” 

“You are wrong. Michel can be very cross. You 
saw that with Languille. Michel is whimsical. For 
instance, he can say nothing good of his friend Des- 
plans.” 

** Oh! Suzanne, frankly, the only thing that surprises 
me is that Monsieur Desplans could ever have been a 
friend of Monsieur Trémor. He is a warez ” 

* Nonentity? ” said the young cite Oh! he isn’t 
a iio but he is droll; he amuses me.’ 

** Suzanne, confess that he admires you a great deal, 
and tells you so a little? ” és 

** Perhaps so! What of it? There are people more 
clever than Desplans who torment me.” 

** Could you be a little — coquettish, Susy? ” 


APRS. Baby. 169 


Miss Severn lowered her long lashes and looking 
through them, sighed: “ It is entertaining.” 

‘“¢ And if that is the reason Monsieur Trémor does not 
like Monsieur Desplans? ” 

“ Doesn’t like! Likes him no longer, my dear! 
Pshaw! I won’t be rude to please Michel. Ah! if I 
should turn my back on people who annoy me! Ma- 
dame de Lorge, for instance.” 

** She is insignificant.” 

“‘ Say affected, impertinent, ill-bred. And she thinks 
herself pretty, and she paints, and she wears wigs. I 
don’t understand how Colette can receive that woman. 
Well, Michel thinks her witty.” 

“<I don’t quite see, as far as her wit is concerned, how 
et a 

‘Yes, yes; oh! she sets me on edge.” 

Susy bit her lips and fidgeted with the handle of her 
parasol. 

“ But Thérése, my dear, I didn’t come to talk about 
that horrible Madame de Lorge; I must have you to- 
night.” 

The young girl redoubled her entreaties, but Thérése 
always answered gently: 

“ Jacques said this, Jacques prefers that.” 

‘Then you obey your Jacques blindly,” cried Miss 
Severn at last, her arguments exhausted. 

** Blindly, oh! that depends. . . . Only, I never 
like to vex him.” 

* You are wrong to spoil him so.” 

When Suzanne found herself on the way back to 


170 APRIL'S: LADY: 


Castelflore, her mind went over the visit with an irrita- 
tion she would have found it difficult to analyse. 

“Monsieur Réault is absurd. And Thérése agreeing 
with him! Who knows. Perhaps she is charmed to 
spend an evening alone with her Jacques.” 

Evidently vexed, Miss Severn dealt rather a sharp 
blow of the whip on the shining flanks of her ponies. 

‘**Desplans is very nice,” the roving mind went-on, 
“‘ whatever Thérése says. A little affected? Pshaw! 
Who could throw the first stone at him nowadays? It 
is true he thinks me pretty. So do many others. [I let 
myself be admired. Thérése calls it coquetry. It’s all 
very well for Thérése to talk. I am sure Jacques pays — 
her more compliments all by himself than Desplans, 
Pontmaury, and the others give me. Could Michel be 
jealous of them all? Are people jealous when they do 
not love? And Michel does not love me. Oh! no! I 
don’t love him either — but I am not jealous.” 

The ponies trotted with difficulty, checked by the ruts 
of the grass-grown road. Suzanne drew them up into 
a walk. 

“Tt is strange,” the young girl’s thoughts went on. 
“'Thérése is constantly obliged to economise, to deny 
herself one thing or another, and yet I have never seen 
a happier face.” 

The little horses seemed so tired that Suzanne stopped 
them, but at a rustling of the leaves the ponies pricked 
up their ears. : 

“ Mademoiselle, I'll wager you took me for Robin 
Hood.” 

At these words gaily flung into the silence, Miss ’ 


APRIL?S: LADY 171 


Severn turned and saw Paul Réault, holding a pencil 
and a sheet of paper. Bits of moss clung to his light 
clothes. 

He was a tall, dark young fellow, who had already 
committed many extravagances, but they had not cor- 
rupted the loyal heart that beat in Paul Réault’s breast. 
Neither shy nor foppish, neither humble nor vain, he 
was not ignorant of his good qualities, and knew his 
faults. 

At Cannes, charmed by the fresh beauty of the little 
American and somewhat encouraged by her independent 
manners, he had at once paid court to her; then one day 
Susy had laughed at him and they had since been the 
best of friends. When Paul met Miss Severn at Rivail- 
ler, and heard of her engagement, he had sincerely con- 
gratulated her. - 

* Well,” cried the young girl, amused at this appari- 
tion. One would think you had been rolling in the 
hay-mow. Dear me! Have you just descended from 
Parnassus? ” 

** Alas, Mademoiselle, no folly need surprise you on 
my part.” 

** You are in love? ” 

** Exactly, Mademoiselle, in love as I have never been 
in all my life.” 

* Poor fellow; it is lamentable! And I am sure this is 
at least the twentieth time, since you reached the age — 
of un-reason.” 

“Don’t laugh. This time, I should be capable of 
dying.” 

* Oh! come! I should like to see it.” 


172 APRIL?S: LADY 


“Too kind. But you are wrong to jest; it is very 
serious.” 

“I confess that the symptoms are alarming. How 
many cantos are there in your poem? ” 

“It is not a poem, Mademoiselle; it is a sonnet,” re- 
plied Paul with dignity. ‘* Unfortunately, sonnets are 
usually composed of fourteen lines, and I have found 
only four. Now I have been at work since eight o’clock 
this morning. ‘These four lines elaborated in two hours 
would tend to show that f lack aptitude.” 

Miss Severn laughed irreverently. 

“Two hours! Why, it is nearly noon. You should 
say four. Aline anhour! That is promising.” 

“Noon! Ah! Confound it,” groaned Paul. “ And 
I am to lunch at Monsieur Lancry’s. Madame de Lorge 
will look daggers at me.” 

“ Aha! Madame de Lorge! Then the sonnet? . . .” 

“Oh! Heavens, no, Mademoiselle! But I am in a 
scrape.” 

The young man’s face was so amusingly penitent that 
Susy fairly lost her breath in a fresh burst of laughter. 

“T am going within fifty yards of Monsieur Lancry’s; 
shall I set you down at the cross-roads? ” she said, when 
she had partially recovered. 

“Shall you? With the utmost delight! But look 
at me; one would think I had been sleeping in a 
barn.” 

“ Nonsense! You need only roll your eyes and mur- 
mur any piece of foolishness in a sweet voice. Madame 
de Lorge is not exacting.” 

Paul shook his coat to free it from the clinging grass, 


CAPHRIL;S: EADY 173 


then after a slight hesitation, took his seat in the little 
carriage. 

“Do you want me to drive? ” 

* No, I like to do it,” she replied, touching the ponies. 
** Now what have you to repeat to me, young poet? ” 

Paul seemed to be calling up his thoughts. 


“Your eyes speak not, oh! have they naught to say, 
while 

Calm and tranquil, they thus meet my own? 

I hear you sing, I see your . . .” 


* Radiant smile, of course! Well, you see, poetry is 
only endurable when it is very fine . . .” 

“ee Oh! 39 

** Is she blonde? ” 

“ No.” 

** Brunette? ” 

6 Yes.” 

“ Ah! Now I’ve caught you. Is she a married wom- 
an in society? ” she went on with perfect composure. 

“Oh! Mademoiselle!” exclaimed the young man, in 
a comically shocked tone. 

“ Yes or no?” 

“Tt is a young girl in society, Mademoiselle.” 

* A young girl. Then you are going to marry her? ” 

“ Alas! They refuse to let me.” 

** Well, that doesn’t surprise me.” 

** Much obliged to you.” 

* Is she in Rivailler? ” 

** Yes, Mademoiselle.” 


174 APRESS “LADY 


Sot aile 

Oh; no.” 

“Ts it Marguerite Sainval? ” 

ce No.” 

“Ah! Brunette, you said? Pretty?” 

“* Lovely.” 

** Sixteen? ” 

“* Exactly.” 

“T have guessed. It is Simone.” 

Paul uttered a heavy sigh. 

*¢ Yes, it is Simone.”’ 

“ Well, so much the better. It would be very nice if 
you should marry her.” 

“Nice? I should think it would be nice! But you 
don’t know Jacques.” 

“* What is the objection? Your pranks? ” Susy went 
on with the same frankness.’ ' 

“Principally my idleness. He thinks that if I had 
any regular occupation, I should not have time to com- 
mit so many follies. So I promised to work but, like 
Saint Thomas, he wants to see before believing. And 
I don’t feel much encouragement. There is the story of 
the English girl,” Paul murmured as if in spite of him- 
self. 

“ What English girl? ” 

* One I ran away with last winter. An authorised 
elopement. We were to be married.” 

*That’s a fine proceeding! What a queer idea to 
elope with an English girl! How did your adventure 
end? ” 


“Very simply. Penelope— her name was Penelope 


APRIL'S; LADY. 175 


—and I perceived that our characters lacked affinity. 
So we exchanged touching farewells, and she went back 
to her island. Only Jacques got wind of the affair 
which, unfortunately, is somewhat recent. So a month 
ago, when I told him of my love for his sister-in-law —” 

** He sent you walking? ” 

*** Cain, what have you done with your English girl? 
- . . I will never, you understand, never, give you 
this poor child before you have applied to yourself the 
test of work . . . And if you dare to say to her 
one word of your feelings, you shall not set foot inside 
my house.? ‘ Am I unfortunate enough, Miss Susy? ” 
said the young man, suddenly changing his tone. 

Suzanne was looking at him with genuine compassion, 
mingled with the interest that the most commonplace love 
affair always awakens in the least romantic woman. 

* You will help; you will intercede for me?” Paul 
continued. ) 

** With all my heart, if I can, and you are steady.” 

“ As a statue, you'll see. This little Simone has 
transformed me. Ah! if I could think all day long that 
her smile awaited me at home, I swear that I should be 
capable of working, who knows — perhaps of becoming 
someone of distinction. I should have but one goal, one 
desire, one dream in the wide world: she! always she! 
And they will not believe me.” 

Suzanne listened, a little irritation still in her heart. 

** These lovers are decidedly tiresome,” she said to her- 
self. 

They reached the cross-roads. He descended. 

“You are my good fairy, Miss Susy. Thanks to 


176 APRIL?S: LADY 


you, Madame de Lorge will be more merciful; ah! one 
last request! You will not tell Michel my secrets? ” — 
seWhy?” 
“ Oh! Because I know Michel. He would side with 
Jacques. ‘ Work, my good fellow, or console yourself. 
‘People don’t die of love, believe it!’ ” 


Vill 


es H : : ; 

OW crazy this Paul is, but how comical too!” 
thought Susy. ‘ And she blushed when I asked if she 
ever thought of her future husband. Here are two 
more people who love each other and will be happy, like 
Jacques and Thérése.” 

The ponies stopped. 

Suzanne knew that Michel was to arrive by train the 
night before, but she was a little surprised to see him 
waiting for her in front of the entrance of Castelflore, 
his face decidedly sullen. 

‘Good morning,” she said, after the instant’s sur- 
prise, taking the hand Trémor offered to help her de- 
scend, and so cheerily that he did not venture at first to 
express his ill-humour. 

In the drawing-room he made up for this restraint. 

“When will you drop this habit of going out alone, 
which I detest? ” 

** T love it,” she answered calmly, standing in front of 
the mirror to take off her pretty white hat. 

** And, besides, you are late; Colette was anxious.” 

Susy turned, her hat in her hand. 

And you?” 

**T also, of course. I have been here three-quarters 
of an hour.” 

Suzanne, without answering, went into the dining-room 
where Monsieur Fauvel, Colette, and the children had 


just taken their seats at the table. 
177 


178 APRIL: LADY 


**T ask your pardon,” she said, going to her place. 

** We ought to ask yours,” replied Monsieur Fauvel. 
** Nysette was famished. You are only ten minutes late.” 

** What delayed you, dear? ” enquired Colette. 

Suzanne laughed. 

** At first I loitered a little and forgot the time, I must 
confess. And then I met with quite an adventure. I 
picked Paul Réault up on the way and took him to 
Madame de Lorge’s, where he was to lunch.” 

Michel abruptly laid down his fork. 

* You took Paul Réault in your carriage? ” 

“ Of course, in my carriage.” 

“Oh! you think it proper for a young girl to drive 
under a young man’s escort? ” 

His voice trembled with ill-repressed anger. 

‘It is always done in America. And a young girl’s 
reputation is sufficiently sacred not to depend upon the 
observance of more or less idiotic conventions,” replied 
Suzanne in the same tone. 

** We are not in America.” 

* Come, a little calmness,” said Monsieur Fauvel 
who, however, could not help laughing. 

** Calmness,” cried Susy, “ when he —” 

“Don’t be vexed, my dear little cousin,” the lawyer 
continued. “In theory, you are right, but practically, 
Michel is not wrong— If you will reflect for half 
a minute, you will agree with me.” 

Susy was appeased, and Michel looked out of the 
window with an air of resignation. 

“Well, are the Réaults coming? ” asked Colette. 

“No. They have been out four evenings in succes- 


APRIL’S LADY 179 


sion, and Jacques is afraid Thérése may be too much 
tired.” 

“That is absurd,” broke in Michel, who at this time 
lacked all forbearance. 

** Absurd!” Susy repeated, her wrath stirring again. 
* Absurd that a husband should think of his wife’s 
health? ” 

“In this particular case, yes.” 

* They are turtle doves. What do you expect? ” said 
Monsieur Fauvel. 

“They have been married six months; it’s time, it 
seems to me —” 

“To stop cooing?” asked Monsieur Fauvel. “ T’ll 
wait for you to try it, my fine fellow. We’ll see if you 
do not coo like the rest.”’ 

* T don’t believe it,?? muttered Michel. 

A wave of color swept over Susy’s face, and tears of 
rage sprang into her eyes, but by a miracle of will she 
prevented their fall, and in an exaggeratedly quiet voice, 
said: 

** Desplans was at the Réaults.” 

“IT suppose you could not say Monsieur Desplans? ” 
remarked Michel. 

“Oh! as you please! I said Jacques just now, I be- 
lieve, without shocking you.” 

* Yes, but that was not quite the same thing,” pubs in 
Monsieur Fauvel’s conciliatory voice. 

“ Then I saw Monsieur Desplans, who talked with me 
about the ball.” 

*“ Really!” cried Colette, supremely interested. And 
they began upon the mauve and green gowns. 


180 APRIGS LADY 


After luncheon as Suzanne told Colette she was going 
down to sit on the river bank, Michel asked permission to 
accompany her. He seemed to have forgotten his dis- 
pleasure and talked of an apartment he had visited in the 
Quartier Marboeuf, of an interview with his upholsterer, 
and a dining-room decoration. 

They sat down at the foot of the slope. The Serpen- 
tine flowed at their feet; grey green willows bordered the 
opposite shore. Fish were swimming in the limpid water. 
Suzanne drew figures with the tip of her parasol on the 
sand. She seemed to wish to say something: 

** Michel,” she began at last, “ do you still sometimes 
think of that person — that woman who caused you so 
much sorrow? ” 

Michel started, but answered quietly. 

“No, I have already told you that this love had been 
a great madness of which I am cured.” 

She was silent, then said timidly, ‘ Michel, was she 
very beautiful? ” 

Michel looked at his fiancée with a somewhat ironical 
smile. 

** Why do you ask that question? ” 

“ For nothing, just to know.” 

“Tf I should tell you that she was not equal to you, 
what would you gain by it?” 

*T am sure that she was very beautiful, far more so 
than I,” murmured Suzanne, without raising her eyes. 
** And — you loved her passionately, didn’t you? ” 

* Yes, passionately,” he repeated vaguely. ‘ I should 
be grateful if you would forget this story, as I have 
myself.” 


APRIL? S: LADY 181 


After a silence, he continued, trying to smile: 

** Since you allude to my past, I am inclined to ques- 
tion you a little about yours. You are neither romantic 
nor sentimental yourself, but I am certain that your 
engagement brought despair to a number of people.” 

** The two gentlemen who offered themselves to me this 
winter, then? I told you about them. And upon my 

word, I have little confidence in the persistence of their 
despair.” 

** But you had suitors in America? ” 

He laughed, but his watchful eyes did not jest like 
his voice. 

* Oh, of course, flirtations and not so many as you 
suppose.” 

** And no one wanted to marry you? ” 

The young girl’s face brightened and her laugh 
sounded more musical than ever. 

** A New Orleans merchant. Oh! how queer he was! 
Neither Uncle: John nor I liked him. And then, when I 
was eight or ten years old, I believe, I knew a very nice 
little boy who always wanted to be my husband, because 
he liked to play with my dolls.” 

** And this is all? ” 

Suzanne raised her clear eyes. 

** Why, yes,” she said, “ as you remarked just now, I 
am not sentimental, and few people are in my coun- 
try.” 

Michel frowned slightly. 

* Perhaps that is a pity.” 

“ A pity! 9 

“If anyone there had loved you very tenderly, per- 


182 APRIL Ss EADY 


haps you might have been touched with compassion. 
Released from your promise, for your grandmother 
would have desired your happiness, you would have mar- 
ried in Philadelphia and — it would have been better.” 

Susy suddenly dropped her sunshade. 

** Why? ” she asked in a stifled tone. 

** You would have been happier, I think, and —” 

** And you also? ” 

**T did not say that,” he cried quickly. 

Without answering, Suzanne rose. 

** The sun is coming,” she said, stooping for the para- 
sol; “ I am going in.” 

But, much disturbed, he followed her. 

“ T swear that I did not mean that,” he repeated. “I 
was thinking solely of you.” 

Seizing both her hands, he forced her to stop. 

** Suzanne,” he commanded, “ I insist that you should 
believe me.” 

**T do believe you,” she replied coldly. ‘ Let me go, 
Michel. Colette is expecting guests; I must change my 
dress.” 

Colette’s boudoir, which separated the young wife’s 
chamber from Suzanne’s, was deserted, but Susy did not 
seek her cousin. Her head feeling heavy, she hurriedly 
drew out her tortoise-shell pins, and her hair rolled over’ 
her shoulders. As she glanced into the mirror, she saw 
two little tears gliding down her cheeks and angrily 
wiped them away. 

Other tears followed, and Susy’s impatience increased 
with their number. To have red eyes when one is about 
to receive guests is not pleasant; Colette would ask ex- 


APRIL?S: LADY 183 


planations. Michel would be triumphant; the maid 
might come in at any moment. 

* Cruel, cruel, cruel,” she repeated. 

Someone knocked at the door. 

“May I come in, Colette? ” 

Good Heavens! Michel’s voice! Suzanne wanted to 
run away, then pride nailed her to her place and, having 
flung her little handkerchief on a table: 

? she called with perfect calmness, forget- 
ting her unbound hair. 

**T thought I should find Colette,” the young man 
explained. “I wished to say good-bye; I am going 
away. And then I wanted a book that was a little 
new.” 

Suzanne assumed a careless manner. 

“ Here is one on the table.” 

** Have you read it? ” 

“1? Oh! I read so few novels! ” 

Michel took a volume haphazard. 

** Good evening,” said the young girl; “I have only 
time to dress.” 

She had already reached the door, when Michel asked 
a question whose triviality almost embarrassed him. 

“ What are you going to wear? ” 

Suzanne seemed surprised. 

** My mauve gown.” 

He hesitated, then said: 

“Your eyes look a little tired —a little red, this 
evening.” 

** My eyes red! Not in the least; why should I have 
red eyes? ” 


“ Come in, 


184 APRIL Ss LADY 


*T don’t know. I state a fact. Perhaps it was the 
dust ; you were driving on the highroad this morning.” 

“No doubt! SoLIamugly? It is amusing.” 

Michel involuntarily smiled. With her unbound hair, 
not very long and quite curly, framing her young face, 
she looked like a charming little page. 

** Why, no,” he replied, yet very laconically. 

Then he went back again. 

** Susy, I should like to explain what I said just now.” 

She affected great astonishment. 

“ Just now? ” 

‘Yes, I don’t know what you understood, but really 
I was thinking only of excusing my bad temper. I am 
captious, very quick, but I hurt you, and —” 

He seemed uncomfortable or unhappy, and it must be 
confessed that Susy enjoyed this embarrassment or sor- 
row. 

**' You did not hurt me,” she said deliberately, only in 
a slightly offended tone. ‘* Besides, you asserted almost 
immediately that you had not intended to say anything 
to wound me, and I believed you. I had forgotten the 
trifle.” 

** Really? ” 

* Really.” 

“Tam very glad of it,” said Michel, in a tone from 
which one would have inferred precisely the contrary. 
** Good-bye, Susy.” 

He went away as if with regret. The sight of the 
poor eyes reddened by the dust had grieved him — and 
he had seen a little damp handkerchief on the table. 

An hour after, as Colette was reading in the drawing- 


APRIT 5S: LADY 185 


room, Suzanne sat down at her feet in the attitude of a 
coaxing child. 

* Colette,” she said, “I should like to know — that 
woman — whom— whom Michel loved. Do you be- 
lieve he still thinks of her? ” 

** What an idea!” cried Colette. 

‘* Has he ever seen her again? ” 

“No, not for years.” 

** She was very beautiful, wasn’t she? ” 

Colette made a face. She easily denied her gods. 

“A matter of taste, you know. She was brilliant, 
yes.” 

“ She did not love Michel. Why?” 

* That is very surprising, isn’t it? ’ answered Colette 
laughing. 

“Oh; I don’t say that at all,” protested the young 
girl eagerly, ** but since he loved her so much —” 

** She was not worthy of him, that is all.” 

“ Colette,” said Suzanne again, resting her head on her 
cousin’s lap, “ do you think I am worthy of him? ” 

This time Madame Fauvel took the young girl’s face 
between her hands and kissed her tenderly. 

Little goose! Should I have desired your marriage, 
if you were not worthy of him? ” 

*T should like to know that woman’s name, Colette.” 

At first Colette absolutely refused to talk about that 
old story and that detestable person, then she yielded, 
named the detestable person, and told the old story in 
full. ' 

“I saw the beautiful comtesse at Cannes this spring, 
without talking with her, of course,” 


186 APRIL'S. LADY 


Susy seemed to be following an idea. “Then they 
have been engaged? ” 

A question was burning on her lips: “‘ Was Michel 
very demonstrative to his fiancée?” but she dared not 
ask it. 

*¢ They have been engaged,” replied Colette, laughing, 
“but don’t be too jealous — you know, they were en- 
gaged in the French fashion.” 

Susy smiled in spite of herself, then another thought 
suddenly came: 

“She was a widow, when — in the month of April, 
and Michel knew it? ” 

* Certainly, he knew it,” cried Colette looking at 
Suzanne more closely. ‘“ What absurd fancies are you 
going to get into your head? If Michel thought you 
were tormenting yourself with such childishness —” 

The young girl started up. “Colette, promise me 
that you will not tell Michel I asked these questions. 
It would trouble me, you see —” 

Her eyes were full of tears. 

** You are nervous to-day, my darling,” said Colette in 
astonishment. “Don’t worry; I'll say nothing to 
Michel. Only, you would be very wrong to think of 
your little quarrel at luncheon; I am sure he already re- 
grets his reproaches. You mustn’t be vexed with 
him.” 
*<T am not vexed,” said Susy, but without great posi- 
tiveness. And she passionately embraced Beet cousin. 
Her heart was lighter. 

For four or five days Michel did not appear at Castel- 
flore. When Colette sent for news of him, he replied 


APRIL Ss. LADY 187 


that he was working steadily to finish his notes of travel 
that week. But Monsieur Fauvel announced his inten- 
tion of going to Saint-Sylvére himself, and asked Su- 
zanne to accompany him. 

Michel seemed a little embarrassed at the sight of his 
unexpected visitors, though the table loaded with papers 
at which he sat forbade any accusation of having pleaded 
his work as an excuse. 

In reality he had tried to tear himself from the life of 
vexations which for some time had unnerved him. He 
could allege with truth the severe headaches from which 
he had suffered for several days. 

* After all, I believe the Réaults are right,” he con- 
cluded; “ these evening entertainments are bad for the 
health.” 

* A question of habit,’? Suzanne declared; “ it doesn’t 
fatigue me at all.” 

* Yet you are a little pale,” remarked Trémor. 

She shook her head quickly, with a movement familiar 
to him, which might mean anything one chose. 

** You are not ill? ” 

** No, indeed, and I am having a very good time.” 

** How long is this exciting life to last? ”? asked Mon- 
sieur Fauvel. 

*¢ Until the end of the week, at least.” 

* Are you going to the Sainval ball? ” cried Suzanne. 

* Probably ; I can’t very well avoid it.” 

Yet Michel performed the duties of hospitality. He 
took Miss Severn and Monsieur Fauvel into the ground- 

floor room where were the pieces of Norman furniture 
_ which he intended for his wife’s chamber and little draw- 


188 Pe LADY 


ing-room; then Jacotte served luncheon under the trees, 
and Suzanne did the honours. 

The young girl thought she again saw the pleasant 
comrade whom she had mourned, and it was this same 
pleasant comrade who appeared at Castelflore the follow- 
ing week. Until the evening of the ball, Michel avoided 
even his best friends, but he rode on horseback with his 
fiancée, discussed the apartment and its furnishings, and 
gave Marcienne Michaud six hens. 

Suzanne told herself from morning till night that she 
was perfectly content with her fate; by dint of repeating 
she ended by believing it. 


IX 


TT E maid had tied the last ribbon, put in the last pin, 
and Susy looked at herself more carefully in the long 
mirror. 

“TI am pretty,” she thought. 

In the satin gown which sheathed her closely, she 
looked extraordinarily slender, but taller and more 
womanly. The pale green and silvery stuff emphasised 
her fairness; her pretty rounded shoulders, her arms 
dimpled at the elbows like those of a child, were white as 
snow and fresh as flowers. 

She could not help smiling at her image. 

“TI am pretty,” she repeated. ‘‘ Why is there only 
one person who never seems to notice it? ” 

“You are always very pretty, Susy,’? said Madame 
Fauvel, “ but this evening, you are positively adorable. 
It isn’t allowable to be so bewitching.” 

“TI am sure that in fifteen minutes it will be proved 
that somebody can be still more so,” Suzanne retorted 
gaily, glancing at her cousin, whose wonderful hair was 
being waved by a maid. ‘“ As to my gown, it is a gem, 
and you spoil me too much, dear Colette.” 

** Michel is waiting down stairs; go ask him what he 
thinks of pale green costumes.” 

When Suzanne appeared on the threshold of the 
lighted drawing-room, Trémor could not repress a move- 
ment of surprise. Lightly crossing the room, she 


stopped before him, radiant, yet a little timid. 
: 189 


190 APRIL S LADY 


** Here I am, Michel,” she said coquettishly. 

She had often thought that the black dress suit made 
her fiancé look taller; to-night she fancied the white 
cravat gave his face a more severe expression. 

Susy’s frankly expectant attitude asked a question. 

** You have a pretty gown,” remarked the young man. 

For an instant, Suzanne felt that all her pleasure had 
vanished. A pretty gown! She knew very well that 
she had a pretty gown; that was the business of Colette’s 
dressmaker. ‘There was a different remark to be made, 
and even if Michel desired to keep to this mere approval 
of her costume, there was another way of expressing it. 

Trémor was still looking at the “ pretty gown” and 
Miss Severn waited; at last, unable to endure the silence 
longer, she said: 

* Neither Colette nor Robert are ready yet.” 

“It is not late,” replied Michel. 

Then they were silent. While she unfolded a paper, 
he shut one of the windows and stood there gazing out 
into the darkness. But he still saw the shining vision, 
the satin gown with its fairy-like sheen of water. 

It was really the little cousin of the evening before 
who was coquettishly asking admiration for her new cos- 
tume, but at the first glance Michel believed he divined in 
her the attractive mystery of a new personality. He re- 
called the metamorphoses of the fairy tales when the 
humble visitor says: 

“You thought you were receiving a beggar; I am a 
fairy; beware! ” 

It seemed as if the magic transformation had taken 
place in Susy, that the triumph of her smile said: 


APRIL: Ss: LADS 191 


“ You thought you were scolding a child; beware, I am 
a woman! ” 

Michel had unconsciously foreseen this exquisite crea- 
ture on the evening when Susy had appeared so graceful 
in her mauve gown. Wonder blended with bitterness, 
joy in admiring Suzanne; wrath in thinking that others 
would see and admire her too. 

Leaving the window, he went toward his fiancée, who, 
a little consoled by the remembrance of Colette’s compli- 
ments, a little excited by the anticipation of the ball, 
began to talk. 

‘You know this is my first ball, Michel,” she said. 
* Uncle John and I seldom went into society. And this 
is my first low-necked gown. Completely low-necked, 
you understand? ” 

* Completely low-necked; yes, I understand,” re- 
peated Michel, dwelling very slightly on the adjective. 

The utterly unjust reproof concealed in the reply was 
scarcely perceptible. Yet Susy felt it, and instinctively 
drew up the tulle scarf that covered her shoulders. The 
movement angered Trémor. 

* Do you intend to keep that scarf on at Chesnaie? ” 

She smiled, still very pink. 

“ Why, no.” 

** Are you cold? ” 

She hesitated and at last said: “ A little.” 

Michel looked at her an instant. 

**T should like to know how you will dare to wear be- 
fore two or three hundred persons a dress which confuses 
you now.” 

‘He felt that he was brutal, and yet could not hold back 


192 APRIL’S LADY 


the words. But Susy was struck by the logic of the 
remark, and answered, thinking — as soon as the sen- 
tence was uttered — that the reply was meaningless: 

** It is because you make me feel more nervous than the 
others, I suppose.” 

** Ah! I make you nervous? I am always a privileged 
person.” 

His voice was hard, sharp; his eyes were wrathful. 

Suzanne, too, was angry. Rising quickly, she stood 
before her lover. 

** Listen, Michel,” she said, “if you must be as sulky 
as this, and spoil all my pleasure, say so! Under these 
conditions, I would prefer anything; I would rather give 
up the Sainval ball.” 

She paused, then added: ‘“ You are unbearable, you 
see; I am sure you do not know how unbearable you 
are.” 

Her arms hung by her side as she raised her large 
sparkling eyes to Michel. A subtle perfume emanated 
from her gown, the flowers on her breast, her very slightly 
powdered hair. And her wrath was pretty for, angry 
as she tried to look, there was nothing hard in her face, 
nothing sharp in her musical voice, whose foreign accent 
was more marked at this moment. 

Then — perhaps for the first time — Michel had a 
wild desire to take her in his arms, to feel the perfumed 
hair beneath his lips, to hold close to his heart this lovely 
child who, after all, was his promised wife, and to 
say! 

Well, yes, don’t go to this ball, I beseech you; I don’t 
know by what right I ask this sacrifice. Yet I entreat 


APRIE?S: LADY 193 


you with all my soul, by all the suffering I foresee and 
fear.” 

But Susy read nothing of these thoughts in the glance 
that rested on her an instant and, having also reflected, 
she went on quickly: 

“‘ After all, I should be very foolish to deprive myself 
of going to the ball on your account.” 

** T should be in despair myself to have you resign such 
a pleasure,” he said coldly. 

Just at that instant Colette entered, charming in her 
mauve moiré gown, painted with pale orchids, followed 
by her husband. Casting a maternal glance at Suzanne, 
she cried: ‘* Well, brother mine, are you proud of your 
fiancée? ” 

“ Very proud,” returned Michel, without the least en- 
thusiasm. 

At Chesnaie, however, he seemed to be in a pleasanter 
mood, and asked the young girl to give him her first 
waltz. 

Miss Severn was at first surprised, and then sincerely 
annoyed. 

* Oh! Michel, how sorry I am; I did not know you 
danced ; you have never done so this summer. So I gave 
my first waltz to Raymond Desplans the other day.” 

* Ah!” said the young man simply. - 

Without adding anything, he offered his arm to 
Suzanne and followed Robert and Colette, who were 
greeting Monsieur and Madame Sainval. 

On entering, Miss Severn almost uttered an exclama- 
tion. This drawing-room appeared as glistening and 
illusive as an apotheosis of fairyland. Borne on the in- 


194 APRESS: (LADY 


visible music, in a dazzling light which lent strange 
splendor to the sumptuous mauve orchids and green 
chrysanthemums in the baskets, the light silk draperies 
and immense awning of the decoration, mauve gowns 
and green gowns were whirling in all directions. The 
different shades blended in harmonious contrasts. 
Through the large bay windows the trees in the park 
were vaguely outlined, mysteriously illumined by the 
green and violet tints of an illusive twilight. 

Madame Sainval smiled at Suzanne’s ingenuous admi- 
ration, and Trémor was again compelled to receive with 
a good grace a compliment to his fiancée which made a 
mischievous look sparkle in the young girl’s eyes. 

Colette and her cousin sat down near Madame Réault 
and, almost immediately, Raymond Desplans came to 
claim the waltz which was being played. 

Suzanne hesitated only an instant. 

** Monsieur Desplans,” she said, “I am going to be 
rude; but when I gave you this waltz, I thought that 
Michel would not come, and as he has asked me for it, I 
should be very grateful if you would give it back to 
me.” 

“That is perfectly right, Mademoiselle,” replied the 
young man, bowing. 

She thanked him prettily, held out her book for 
Desplans to write his name for another waltz, and then 
went in search of Michel, whom she found leaning against 
the frame of a door. 

*T have taken back my waltz,” she said, laying her 
gloved hand on Trémor’s arm, as the orchestra again 
began to play. 


APRIE’S: LADY. 195 


“ T beg you to notice that I have not asked you to do 
this, Suzanne.” 

**T know it; I acted of my own impulse.” 

“Do you want to dance with me? ” 

“If you wish it yourself, of course,” she replied, a 
little disappointed by this doubtful welcome. 

“ Oh, it was ridiculous for me to invite you. I’m not 
fond of dancing. Really I don’t know what inspired the 
idea, and —”’ 

While he was speaking in this constrained tone, Miss 
Severn was smiling at him with a caressing glance. 

** Don’t be cross, Michel,” she said very gently. 

Then, without answering, he passed his arm around 
the young girl and bore her away to the melody of the 
Hungarian waltz. 

Susy thought Michel waltzed badly; yet she was glad 
to dance with him. There was in the mere fact of being 
guided by him to the rhythm of this somewhat savage 
music something sweet and, and it were, normal, that 
cheered and comforted her. 

She was the first to speak — a little remark upon the 
harmonious effect of the two prescribed colours, which 
she would have made to any partner. Michel answered, 
admiring what she admired. 

* Do you like the mauve or the green gowns best? ” she 
next asked. 

‘The green ones.” 

** And, come now, Michel, among the green ones, to 
which would you give the prize? ” 

Michel smiled,’and Suzanne thought it made him look 


very young. 


196 APRITL?*S LADY 


“ To Mademoiselle Sainval’s and yours.” 

“Really? You like my gown?” 

* TI thought I had already told you so.” 

* Oh! so badly.” 

“Then this is better? ” 

“A little. And,’ she continued with involuntary 
coquetry, “between Marguerite Sainval’s gown and 
mine, which do you prefer? ” 

Michel smiled again; she waited with a little anxiety. 

“ Yours, I think.” 

ee Why? 39 

“‘ Because it is more simple, and perhaps — because 
you are fair, and the water green is becoming.” 

** Perhaps so, yes.” 

“Have you noticed that’ we often have the same 
taste? ” he said amicably. 

“Certainly, but not in everything, only in furniture 
and gowns.” 

‘*¢ That would be very little.” 

“The Hétheens? ” she queried with an air of anxiety 
that was very comical. This time he laughed outright. 

“That might be better.” 

“In waltzing? ” 

“Oh, no, I waltz very badly ” (he had just missed a 
step). 

“ Very badly, no,” Susy corrected, with absolute frank- 
ness; “ but not well. Yet I am glad to waltz with you, 
all the same.” 

** You are very kind. It is like saying, when someone 
steps on your foot, that you did not feel it.” 

** No, I love to dance with you. . . . Perhaps it 


APRIE’S LADY LOR 


is because you are something to me, and the rest are 
nothing.” 

He instinctively drew her a little closer to him. 

* So I really am something to you? ” he murmured. 

“You are my fiancé —and my cousin too,” she re- 
plied smiling. 

Trémor’s face had darkened. 

* That is true, I forgot,” he said with a sort of em- 
phasis ; ‘I am your cousin! ” 

** And you,” she asked, “ are you glad to dance with 
me? ” 

“ What a question! You know that you waltz’to per- 
fection.” 

The music stopped. They went into the conservatory, 
where Jacques Réault came to speak to Suzanne; then 
Michel asked for another waltz. 

She drew out her little book but, at the sight of the 
pages filled with names, Michel smiled somewhat bitterly. 

** It is useless,” he said. ‘‘ There is nothing more for 
me.” 

“ Why, yes,” she tried to say; “ only —” 

“No. Besides, it is better. I know it is not very 
pleasant to dance with me.” 

The orchestra began a prelude. As Gaston Pont- 
maury approached to remind Miss Severn of the dance 
she had promised him, Michel with a hasty good evening 
went away. 

For a moment Susy thought that she should have no 
more pleasure during the evening, but her youth gained 
the upper hand. 

There was much unconsciousness in Miss Severn’s 


198 Api CAD Y. 


coquetry. The desire to please was so instinctive, so ab- 
sorbing, that she seemed to make it her object to charm 
women, children, and the humblest people she met, and 
she was as coquettish in her manner with Colette, 
Georges, Nysette, and the Michauds as with her partners. 

Her delicate freshness, the brilliancy of her blonde 
beauty, were unusually attractive, she knew, and this 
joyous certainty of being pretty sparkled in her words 
and smile. 

She was surrounded like a little queen and, in her joy 
at being thus petted, she felt very good, very indulgent. 
All the men seemed agreeable, all the women beautiful, 
and the whole world very captivating. 

Once she saw with pleasure that Michel was dancing 
with Marguerite Sainval, for she would have wished every 
one to have as much enjoyment as she and, believing he 
would come to seek her later, she kept the German for 
him against all entreaties. She felt a great desire to 
dance with Michel again; perhaps a little from gratified 
pride, perhaps also from a feeling that Susy scarcely de- 
fined. But he did not come. 

Several times, while dancing, she tried to smile at him, 
but he pretended not to see her. She cheered up again, 
however when, after many others, the young man came 
to take her to the supper room, though she felt that she 
and Michel were not in harmony. 

Trémor refused to conduct his fiancée into the gallery, 
whose windows were wide open, but served her in the con- 
servatory. For the moment they were entirely alone. 

** People will think you are monopolising me,” cried 
the young girl. 


APRIL Ss. LAD. 199 


“Robert went an hour ago, leaving you and Colette 
in my charge. I have not the slightest desire that you 
should catch pneumonia.” 

* Poor Colette! She is having a good time herself, 
and probably not thinking of me; but would you believe 
that I haven’t had time to exchange two words with her 
this evening? ” 

“Oh! I could easily believe it.” 

“Tt’s dull to eat alone,” said Suzanne suddenly. 
“ Why didn’t you get something for yourself? ” 

** Because I am not hungry.” 

** Here are two forks, one on my plate and one on the 
the foie gras; we might eat at the same time.” 

* T am not hungry.” 

* Oh! just a mouthful, Michel, one tiny mouthful, to 
please me,” she entreated. 

Half vexed, half amused, Michel took the fork and 
obeyed. The young girl laughed gaily. 

‘You are very nice, Michel,” she said, “ when you 
cease to be a serious man. Serious men are sometimes 
very tiresome, do you know? ” 

* Oh! I know it. It has been, perhaps, the great folly 
of my life to be serious.” 

His tone grieved the little queen of the evening; 
a look of tender pity softened her eyes and, very 
gently, she laid her ungloved hand upon her stern sub- 
ject’s. 

* No,” she said, “‘ I do not think so; I think your life 
is very good as it is.” 

Trémor’s hand had closed upon the compassionate 
fingers. 





IRR, 


200 APRIL’S LADY. 


“ Colette is right,’’ he said in a very low tone, “ you 
are a terrible coaxer.” 

* But you are so hard to coax that I don’t see 
what you should fear,” she murmured in a still lower 
voice. 

Disengaging her hand, she took a few sips of cham- 
pagne, then said: 

**T have finished; if you are thirsty, I’ll give you the 
rest.” 

** Thank you.” 

** Are you disgusted? ” she asked so gravely that he 
could not help laughing. 

“Why no. What a baby you are!” 

Taking the goblet, he drank from it slowly. 

Susy seemed delighted. 

“ That is a savage ceremony,” she said. ‘“ In novels 
of adventure, the Apaches and all those folk seal their 
compacts-of friendship in that way — not with cham- 
pagne, of course. I hope we shall never quarrel again. 
Do you remember our agreement at Saint-Sylvére? ” 
she added rising. 

Trémor looked at her an instant without speaking, then 
he murmured. 

* Yes, I do remember it.” 

When her lover had taken her back to the ballroom, 
Suzanne was on the point of offering him the German, 
but changed her mind. They separated, and she once 
more allowed herself to be carried far away from real 
life by the intoxication of dancing and adulation. 

** Mademoiselle Sainval is only the official heroine of 
her parents’ ball; the real one is Miss Severn,” exclaimed 


APRIL'S: ARDY 201 


Baron Pontmaury, who was talking with Trémor. 
“ Look at her.” 

Trémor submissively obeyed the request, but he cer- 
tainly did not find as much pleasure in seeing Miss 
Severn dance as did Baron Pontmaury. Yet Suzanne, 
in her glory, did not forget the lovers whom she was to 
aid. While waiting for a waltz she had promised Paul 
Réault, she sat down by Simone. 

** Are you having a very good time, darling? ” 

6é Oh! 99 

The answer was very expressive. 

** So much the better,” replied Miss Severn. ‘“‘ Have 
you danced a great deal? ” 

* A great deal.” 

** With pleasant people? ” 

“ Why yes,” 

** Who, for instance? ” 

* Monsieur Pontmaury, Monsieur Riége, Monsieur 
Boisse, Monsieur Desplans, Monsieur.— Oh, I don’t 
know; there are too many.” 

** Didn’t you dance with Paul Réault? ” 

* Oh! yes.” 

** Then why did you omit the poor fellow from your 
list? Do you dislike him? ” 

6eé No.”? 

“Tm very fond of him. And you?” asked Miss 
Severn suddenly. 

So so,” replied the young girl, making a little face. 

Paul came up to them. 

“We were talking about you,” said Susy, with her 
usual composure. 


202 APRIL’S LADY 
Mademoiselle Chazé blushed deeply. 


**T am certain that Miss Severn was telling you some- 
thing bad about me, Mademoiselle.” 

“Oh! not at all, were you, Suzanne? ” 

“So so!” retorted Suzanne, imitating her little 
friend. ‘‘ Come, my dear,; give this wicked Paul this 
waltz, or he will think I have been doing him an ill turn 
with you.” She was going to add: “I am tired,” but 
the young man did not give her time. 

**Oh! Mademoiselle Simone, I entreat you!” he im< 
plored. 

**T should like to, but I am engaged.” 

* And the next? ” 

“The next I have given to Monsieur Languille, but 
— Suzanne,” asked the young girl, ‘‘ would it be very 
rude to forget Languille — just this once? ” 

“Why, that would be delightful!” cried Paul en- 
thusiastically. 

When Simone had gone away on the arm of her happy 
partner, Paul sat down beside Suzanne, who was laughing 
merrily. 

‘JT believe you are making fun of me, Miss Susy.” 

“Do you think so? But, you wretch, you were to 
dance this waltz with me. And your way of leaving me 
in the lurch! Oh! how funny you can be!” 

“Say that I deserve the gibbet. But there are ex- 
tenuating circumstances. Now, if you were good, we 
would dance this famous waltz and talk about her all the 
time.” : 

Susy was good, and they talked about her. Paul 
found the conversation so agreeable that he asked his 


APRIL: BABY. 203 


good fairy to dance the German, frankly explaining 
that he could not dance it with Simone, lest he should 
displease Jacques. 

“We have danced together I don’t know how many 
times,” remarked Suzanne, laughing ; “ people will think 
you are paying me attention.” 

“ Pshaw! ” replied the young man, “ it’s no new thing 
for me to pay attention to every pretty girl; Michel 
knows that very well.” 

Turning, Miss Severn sought her fiancé with her eyes. 
He cared little for his rights; yet Susy found it hard to 
give the German to another. Where was Michel? No 
longer in the same place, at any rate. Suddenly she 
almost uttered an exclamation. Michel was dancing with 
Madame de Lorge, and smiling at the mincing airs of 
“that bewigged head.” Oh! that widow! Good Heav- 
ens! what had she said that he should be in such raptures? 
And she was painted! 

** Come, Miss Susy,” replied Paul, “ be charitable, give 
me the German.” 

“ Well, yes, then,” she replied. 

The German was danced at four o’clock; the ball was 
to end with a farandole. 

Garlanded with mauve flowers and delicate green 
leaves — souvenirs of the German — her hair slightly 
disordered, her eyes very brilliant, Susy vaguely sug- 
gested the idea of a very dainty, aristocratic little Bac- 
chante. Just as she was starting off with Languille, 
who had been whirling around all the evening like a 
young man, Michel came to tell her that the carriage 
was ready, and Colette wanted to go. 


204 APRIESS, LADY 


** Oh! Michel, one minute; this is the end.” 

“My dear friend,” cried Languille, “ you won’t —” 

But Trémor did not appear to hear the artist. 

** Come, Susy,” he repeated; “ it is nearly five o’clock, 
almost dawn —” 

* So much the better; I should like to breakfast here.” 

** 'That’s it, that’s it!” Languille approved pleasantly. 

“ That’s it, that’s it,” replied Michel, impatiently 
imitating him; “it’s very well for you, but I have a 
frightful headache.” 

Suzanne instantly dropped her partner’s arm. 

“If your head aches, let us go—TI thought five 
minutes more — and Colette would not — but let us go.” 

At Castelflore Michel helped the two ladies out, then 
hastily embraced Colette, and held out his hand to 
Suzanne. 

**T must run away,” he said; “ that luckless coachman 
must detest me.” 

** Good-bye, and thank you, brother mine,” called 
Colette. 

Alone in the pallid dawn, while the rain began to 
plash gently against the panes, Michel flung himself, 
fully dressed, upon his bed. He wanted to sleep, but all 
the thoughts he wished to banish thronged upon his 
mind, and ever whirled in a bewitching light the fragile 
green enchantress. 

He was obliged to admit that, during that intermina- 
ble night, there were moments when he would have been 
capable of throwing away his History of the Hétheens 
to dance like Paul Réault or Desplans. 

Yet I do not love her,” he repeated, his face buried 


APRIL'S “LADY 205 


in his pillow; “ no, I really believe that I do not love her, 
but she bewitches me, she intoxicates me, as she does the 
rest. Ah! if the miserable little coquette, who does not 
consider me sufficiently ‘ coaxable,’ if she only knew! 
How she would triumph, how she would laugh at me! ” 


xX 
Towarp ten o’clock Michel rose, worn out by his in- 


somnia. 

The rain had soaked the roads; nevertheless, he went 
to Castelflore, thinking that he was in search of a work on 
ethnology. In the little room on the ground floor he 
found Suzanne. 

She was breakfasting, comfortably seated before a 
table on which were various pretty pieces of silver and 
china. The substantial meal— bread, butter, boiled 
eggs and tea — was that of an active, healthy person 
who considered air and light insufficient nourishment. 

In a closely-fitting dark wool gown, with a light blue 
cravat around her slender neck, her movements were as 
quick and her complexion as fresh as if she had been 
sleeping peacefully all night. 

“You, Michel, already!” 

He hurriedly explained the object of his visit then, — 
while Suzanne went on eating, sat down and tried to talk. 
But harmony between them was less possible than ever. 

Michel came very weary physically and mentally, with 
a vague desire to be comforted, to hear a cheering word ; 
above all, to be understood without having to explain him- 
self. Suzanne had fallen asleep like a child, and waked 
with her head filled with rose-coloured fancies. When 
she read novels or fairy tales whose heroine, a young, 
dowerless girl, or a peasant disguised as a princess, be- 


came the centre of a festival, she had smiled, giving no 
; 206 ; 


APRIL’S: LADY. 207 


more credence to the romance than to the fairy tale, but 
she had thought it must be a pleasant thing to have “a 
great success,” as in the novel, or to be ‘* queen of the 
ball,” as the fairy tale described. And now reality had 
undertaken to prove the probability of fiction. She, 
little Zanne, had enjoyed one of those social successes 
perhaps once envied by her — but from so great a dis- 
tance. 

Miss Severn had not really been aware of her unex- 
pected triumph until the next morning on waking. But 
she was still happy and content — even to the degree of 
scorning that poor Madame de Lorge and forgetting 
Michel’s bad temper. Perhaps, after all, this unknown 
charm which emanated from her had somewhat subdued 
the proud knight of Saint-Sylvére. He had not been 
constantly cross; on the contrary, he had sometimes be- 
stowed on Susy more affectionate looks and more indul- 
gent words. 

So, when Michel came in, his fiancée had expected to 
see him as gay, as agreeable, as proud of Miss Severn as 
she felt inclined to be of herself. She was surprised to 
find him so gloomy, with a frown on his forehead. He 
was irritated to see her so smiling. 

* Are you going out? ” asked the young man, noticing 
Suzanne’s hat and cape lying on a chair near her. 

She merrily answered that she and four or five other 
young girls were invited to lunch at Madame Réault’s 
* to talk over the ball ”; then interrupting herself: 

“ By the way, Michel,” she said, “ there is something I 
must ask you. Yesterday at Chesnaie, they planned a 
ride on horseback to Franchard. The meeting will be 


208 APRILS “GADY. 


at half past one, at the Butte-aux-Chévres. As we shall 
not return until evening, Colette thinks it too long, and 
Robert doesn’t care about it. Will you deign to go 
with me? ” 

A ride in a party! Michel instantly imagined what it 
would be. Desplans, Pontmaury, Paul Réault appeared 
like so many hateful spectres; he again saw Suzanne sur- 
rounded, flirting as she had done at the ball. 

** Really, my dear, I have something better to do than 
to spend my day with a troop of people,” he answered 
coldly. 

At these words the young girl looked at Trémor and 
noticed his pallor. 

**' You look very tired. Does your head still ache? ” 

“Yes, of course.” 

They were silent. 

* So,” said Michel, with involuntary impatience, “ you 
haven’t yet had enough of this wretched ball. Heaven 
knows you talked about it sufficiently beforehand. And 
you must needs talk after.” 

Susy began to laugh. ‘ Oh! Michel, if you only knew 
how exciting it was,” she cried. ‘ And after all,” she 
went on, “ you were not bored all the time, yourself. 
You danced.” 

* Twice at least, didn’t I? You —” 

“ Oh! I did not miss a single dance. Everybody was 
so good to me.” 

“You must have talked with a great many people, 
for you had a court.” 

“Really? Well, Michel, a whole court is less com- 
promising than a single courtier.” 


APRISS “LADY 209 


But Michel was in no mood for jesting. 

“A fine custom young French girls have recently 
taken up,” he said, “ following the example of your 
countrywomen. I really don’t know why they trouble 
themselves with a chaperon. A maid could attend them 
to the dressing-room.” 

“A time will come when they will dispense with a 
maid,” returned Susy philosophically. 

**T don’t think a time could ever come when I should 
consider it proper for a young girl to be surrounded only 
by young men during an entire evening,” he returned, 
making a more direct attack.. 

“Oh! surrounded by young men,” said Susy, ac- 
cepting the challenge and suddenly feeling a desire to 
tease. “Who? Let us see? Desplans?— Yes, De- 
splans did pay me attention. And then —”? 

“And Gaston Pontmaury,” abruptly interrupted 
Michel, “ and Paul Réault and Beaucourt, and then that 
sort of deputy, and that blockhead of a Languille.” 

* Oh! Michel, blockhead!” she repeated reproachfully. 
* Besides, Languille isn’t a: young: man, nor the sub- 
prefect either.” 

* And Paul Réault, is he a young man?’ Paul Réault 
whom you knew at Cannes, who paid you attention last 
. winter probably.” 

‘* He did pay me attention at Cannes, yes, that is true, 
Michel,” conceded Miss Severn, still calmly pouring her- 
self a second cup of tea, “ but not here.” 

Michel rose, folding his arms. 

“Then you admit that he paid you attention at 
Cannes? ” 


210 APRIL S: LADY 


“ Certainly, why not? It is droll, Michel, that you are 
always astonished that any one should pay me attention.” 

“ T did not say that I was astonished — you ought not 
to allow it, that is all. But you are a coquette —” 

* T am not a coquette; only I like to have a good time, 
and I do whenever I can.” 

“ And how many times did you go for refreshments, 
how many times? ” 

** Are you reproaching me for What I ate? ” 

“Oh; you didn’t eat much. You had very little time 
to eat.” 

Miss Severn sat erect in her chair, and looked Trémor 
squarely in the face. 

“Did you come this morning to seek a quarrel? ” she 
asked with a sauciness very clearly shown in the tilt of 
her chin. 

He had not come to seek a quarrel. Oh, no! he had 
been captured by it; now he was in the midst, his glance 
stern, his voice sharp, his mind bitter, his heart con- 
tracted, all the rancour of the night on his lips. 

“TI have a horror of quarrels, Suzanne,” he replied; 
“IT merely wished to express my way of thinking.” 

*¢ Your way of thinking is so pleasant. Do you sup- 
pose I am the only girl who laughed and talked a little 
at Chesnaie? ” 

“There are young girls, and even young married 
women who are very gay, charming ones who scorn the 
insipid compliments of the Pontmaurys and Desplans. 
Madame Réault, for instance, is she coquettish? ” 

“No, and she is lovely,’? Susy assented frankly. 
* But it isn’t the same thing with Thérése.” 


APRIL?*S: LADY: 211 
6é Why? 9 


** Because.” 

“ You cannot tell me.” 

6é No.” ; 

“Oh, I am not curious,” said the young man, whose 
anger was increasing. ‘ But I confess that I did not 
expect such recklessness.” 

Susy turned pale. 

“ That is a rude word,” she said, through her clenched 
teeth. 

But Michel, thoroughly exasperated, continued, pass- 
ing the limits which, in a cooler mood, he would have 
scorned to cross. 

“Do you think that dances which make a young girl 
go from one man’s arms to another’s for a whole evening, 
are not disgusting? Do you believe that you know 
exactly what you are saying, under the influence of music 
that intoxicates you, with all these fools who are more 
or less excited by their visits to the sideboard? I hate 
these balls, I hate the license they sanction, the flirtations 
_ they favor, and as you are my promised wife —” 

* Michel,” interrupted Susy, trembling with rage, 
* take care what you are saying.” 

** Nothing except what is very justifiable, be sure of 
that. I am tired of playing a ridiculous part. I did 
not ask for your love, not even your friendship —” 

** Michel! ” cried the young girl with flashing eyes, her 
voice trembling from the quiver of her lips; * Michel, 
what you say is base. You did not ask for my friend- 
ship, but I asked for yours, and if you had given it to 
me, you could never, never have treated me so unjustly.” 


212 APRIES: CAD Y. 


He tried to speak, but she would not permit it. 

“What have I done?” she went on, with a sort of 
wrathful bewilderment. ‘* Why was I taken to the ball 
if not to dance and have a good time? You talk of reck- 
lessness! What have I done? So it disturbs you be- 
cause I am a little pleased, a little petted— Oh! 
that is the way with all you men, jealous from vanity, 
when it is not from affection! Oh! Michel, it is unkind, 
it is unkind. Have I reproached you for dancing with 
Madame de Lorge, and yet I hate her, oh! I hate that 
woman.” 

Still more irritated, excited, carried away by the words 
she was speaking, she suddenly pushed the table back, 
buried her face in the sofa pillows and burst into tears. 
Michel was thunderstruck. 

“Suzanne,” he attempted to say, “it is absurd to 
weep.” 

But she made no answer. Shaken by sobs, tears were 
streaming between her fingers. 

** Susy, don’t cry so.” 

The sobs increased. It was the utter despair of a help- 
less, bewildered child. Michel hesitated then, distracted 
by this grief, he knelt before the young girl. 

“* Suzanne, my dear little one,” he implored, vainly 
trying to draw away the hands she pressed against her 
face, “‘ you are causing me a great deal of sorrow. If I 
have been too severe, if I was wrong, forgive me. My 
poor little Zanne, I don’t want you to cry —” 

*‘ Michel,” she said in a very low, suffocated tone, 
‘* you have been very cruel.” 

* But I am sorry for it, I assure you; don’t cry.” 


APRIL'S. LADY 213 


“ Michel, I am not a coquette.” 

“No, my darling, no — it was all those little fools 
that irritated me.” 

“* And you did flirt with Madame de Lorge,” she went 
on, still without uncovering her face. 

“Madame de Lorge! Oh! if you knew how indifferent 
I am to her!” 

“Do you think that I am not indifferent to — De- 
splans, for instance? ” 

“ T hope so.” 

Susy raised her head, lowered her little hands and ap- 
peared bathed in tears. Then she saw Trémor kneeling 
before her and she smiled. It was like a ray of sunshine 
in her eyes and on her wet cheeks, but Michel foolishly 
imagined that she was mocking him, that the smile ex- 
pressed a malicious triumph. He abruptly started up, 
and there was a moment’s constraint. 

** Michel,” said Suzanne at last, “ why did you speak 
to me so harshly? ” 

Michel sat down by her side, and took her hand. 

“ Listen, Susy,” he said; “‘ I am very sorry, very much 
ashamed of having been carried away by my anger. 
But your youth, your frankness, and also the customs 
of the country in which you were educated, prevent you 
from understanding the danger in these games of smiles 
and compliments. You are purity itself, I know, but 
you are perfectly aware that everybody finds you pretty, 
bewitching —” 

“ Not everybody, not you,” she interrupted, pouting. 
And she longed to add: ‘“ If I danced the German with 


‘Paul Réault, it was because someone else, someone very 


214 APRIL’S LADY 


unkind, did not care to ask me.” But her pride forbade 
this reproach. 

* Not I; that is agreed — I am always the exception. 
But, everybody except myself, isn’t that true? And it 
amuses you, and you encourage these flirtations which 
undoubtedly are perfectly innocent on your part, but, 
believe me, might be less so with the other side. Ah! if 
you knew how men talk in the smoking-rooms about 
women and even young girls, when they give cause for 
the least criticism —” 

** What you are saying is very disagreeable.” 

Very disagreeable, certainly, but unfortunately true. 
Susy,” the young man continued, “I should like to ask 
— it is hard, it is cruel in me, but — will you promise to 
_ amuse yourself a little less another time? I should be 
so happy.” 

Miss Severn lowered her eyes, then raising them to his, 
said firmly : 

“TI will promise, but give and take. You will no 
longer show Madame de Lorge any attention beyond” 
what strict civility requires. I have my vanity, too.” 

“IT will do as you wish. I danced once with Madame 
de Lorge, because she came in search of me, and almost 
forced me to it, if you want to know.— It is per- 
fectly absurd.” 

Susy laughed with delight. 

** She came to search for you, Michel? Well, she is 
not proud.” 

Michel joined in her laugh. 

“Then we are no longer angry with each other, 
Michel? I hate quarrels.” 


ALAILS LADY 215 


Her voice was coaxing. 

** Good Heavens, so do I, I assure you —” 

Michel hesitated, seemed embarrassed, then suddenly 
returning to the subject of the dispute: 

“Susy,” he said again, “ I am sometimes afraid that 
you do not understand the importance of things. That 
supper you shared so prettily with me, you — you 
would not have shared it with any one else, Susy, tell 
me? ” 

The question was grating. Michel was not ignorant 
of it, but it had beset him on his return from Chesnaie 
and he could not help asking it. 

Miss Severn looked at him in profound astonish- 
ment. 

“With any one else?” she repeated, “with a 
stranger? ” ; 

Again she looked at him. 

** Michel,” she added, suddenly smiling, ‘‘ would you 
have made the scene with which you just favored me 
with any one else? ” 

He abruptly covered his eyes with the hand he still 
held. 

“Oh! I am crazy,” he said; “I am crazy, you must 
forgive me, forget what I have said.” 

For a very brief pause they remained silent, then Susy 
rose. 

‘“ The carriage must be ready.” 

Trémor had risen too. Laying his hand upon Su- 
zanne’s head and drawing back a little to read her eves 
better, he said imploringly : 

** You forgive me? ” 


216 APRIL’S LADY 


“Yes,” she answered in a very low tone, without shun- 
ning the eyes that sought her own. 

“Thank you, little Zanne,” said Michel, gently kiss- 
ing her forehead. 

Blushing slightly, she took her hat and went before 
the mirror to put it on. 

** Susy,” added Trémor in a very pleasant tone, “I 
was cross just now; if you really wish to ride to Fran- 
chard, I will go with you gladly.” 

She turned quickly, with sparkling eyes. 

“Oh! Michel, I should be delighted.” 

The young man smiled, then he took the cloth cape 
lying on a piece of furniture and, with gentle care, 
wrapped it around the pretty little figure. 

“It is almost cold, this morning; take care,” he ad- 
vised. 

The gesture, the simple words, touched Suzanne. 
The evening of that day, as she was going to sleep, she 
thought for a long time and suddenly a question formed 
itself in her mind: 

‘** How do people know that they are in love? How 
are they perfectly sure of it? ” 


XI 


W HILE their horses were carrying them toward the 
Butte-aux-Chévres Michel and Susy’s hearts were filled 
with the frank joy of the first days of their comrade- 
ship, but subtly pervaded by a new emotion. 

Susy was enjoying the soothing charm of the beau- 
tiful morning. Michel was admiring the supple move- 
ments of a somewhat fragile figure bending beneath the 
boughs, and rising again so gracefully; he was en- 
chanted by a voice that sounded as clear as the rippling 
of springs. 

They were talking together: 

“This bores you a little, Michel, because you never 
like rides in parties, but it doesn’t bore you so very 
much? ” 

** It doesn’t bore me at all.” 

Do you know that you can be very kind when you 
choose? Why don’t you wish to be always? ” 

Michel’s only reply was a lift of the brows. 

Suzanne continued: 

**Tt seems that your solemn airs conceal a person 
whom I do not yet know, and who is very young, very 
spontaneous, happy and gay for a nothing. One of 
your friends told me so.” 

Trémor’s face brightened. 

*“ Daran,” he said. ‘I received a letter from him a 


few days ago, and I am expecting him next week. 
217 


218 APRIL:S LADY 


When did you see him, without counting the famous 
evening when his erudition put you to sleep? ” 

** At the time of our engagement, before his depar- 
ture and yours.” 

** You are right, I forgot.” 

“ He is very fond of you. Is it true that he never 
decides anything without consulting you? ” 

Michel smiled. 

TI might almost believe so. In his last letter he asks 
me to find an engineer for his father, and to advise him- 
self in the choice of an automobile. There’s a proof 
of confidence! We like, Daran and I, to talk about 
all sorts of things that interest us, whether they are 
important or not. I have known him all his life, he 
has known me all mine. Yes, I believe he is very fond 
of me — and I love him like a brother.” 

**So much the better, Michel,” said Susy. “I like 
Daran. [I shall love him too.” 

Michel seemed astonished. 

“IT should have feared that Daran might seem to you 
—what shall I term it? A little disappointing. Well, 
he greatly admires you. Probably without intending 
it, you have charmed him.” 

She laughed a little low, sweet laugh, then in her 
childlike manner said: 

“How many people I have charmed so! It is com- 
ical.” 

Michel did not think it comical, but he took care not 
to express his opinion. Then, suddenly, the vision 
again haunted him of Desplans, Paul Réault, all the 
young men who, like Daran, and less artlessly than he, 


APRIL S- EADY 219 


had yielded to the enchantment and during the ride to 
Franchard would be as absurdly eager as usual. He 
contented himself with saying: 

“You know I would much prefer that fewer people 
should be charmed.” 

But Susy had not the least desire this morning to be 
vexed or even tease. 

** Oh! Michel,” she cried with a reproach in her coax- 
ing voice, “I think you might have spared me that 
speech. I have been so quiet and even serious since the 
Sainval ball.” 

* For two days.” 

“ Yesterday, especially, at Madame Riége’s, I sat be- 
side Raymond Des — Monsieur Desplans. Well, do you 
know what I talked about to him during the dinner? 
The American Constitution! He did not come back. 
You are satisfied I think? ” 

He looked at her, still smiling, admitting that after 
all, she was right. He had noticed that she was more 
reserved than usual, and that several times, by a little 
side glance, she had sought his approval — incor- 
rigibly coquettish, perhaps, in this new character. 

“Very well satisfied,” he answered, adding, this time 
in a jesting tone: 

“What if you should again talk about the Ameri- 
can Constitution on this ride? Perhaps it might be a 
means of wearying your court.” 

Susy glanced at him and said firmly: 

* But you would have an excellent way of wearying 
_ my court.” 

* Tell me quickly.” 


220 APRS LADY. 


“Why, it would be to play the engaged man your- 
self a little more than usual, that is all; to remain near 
me, rush for the flowers I look at, appear to —” 

Miss Severn was laughing, but there was a little tremor 
in her voice. 

** Come,” she concluded, “ you know very well the 
manner that engaged men have, don’t you? And you 
don’t have it at all— This is not a reproach.” 

“Tt would be a little unjust, I think. You told me 
one day that the regulation engaged couples bored you, 
and you wanted a good comrade.” 

She laughed again. 

“ That is perfectly true — but just for once, by way 
of a change.” 

Michel’s heart was a little heavy. There was some 
truth in what Suzanne had said; yet he kept silent, still 
beset by the fear of being the plaything of a coquette. 
And he asked himself whether his own feeling was any- 
thing more than irritated pride. Had not his mascu- 
line vanity suffered more than his heart, when his 
fiancée laughed and enjoyed herself in his absence, when 
- she was gracious to all, without caring to please him? 

As Trémor was silent Miss Severn asked: 

** For once, will you pay me attention all day long, so 
that others may not do it?” 

** Indeed I will,” replied Michel. “I only fear that 
the comparisons you will make may not be favourable 
to me.” 

Suzanne turned slightly toward Trémor and looking 
at him with the glance through the lashes which was one 
of her witcheries, murmured: 


APRS: LADY 221 


“If you thought so, you would not say it.” 

And as she held out her whip hand to Michel, he 
clasped and raised it to his lips. The movement was 
so unlike the usual manner of their relations that Su- 
zanne began to laugh. 

“My compliments, Michel; you have struck the right 
note.” 

A pause followed. 

“Twenty minutes of two,” cried Miss Severn, glanc- 
ing at her watch. ‘ We are abominably late.’ And 
touching Pépa’s flank with the whip, she set off at a trot. 

The mound known by the name of Butte-aux-Chevres 
rose in the midst of an ancient wood, whose trees had 
been felled. A group of horsemen, amid whom were 
visible the figures of several women in riding costume, 
surrounded the landau from Chesnaie, where Madame 
Réault, who had not been well for several days, was 
seated beside Madame Sainval. 

Tired of remaining still, Simone Chazé rode her horse 
at a trot around the clearing, then checked him to a 
walk to look at the heather which carpeted the earth, 
like dainty bells ready to sound the knell of summer. 

By a skilful maneeuvre, Paul joined the young girl. 

“Do you want me to gather some for you?” he 
asked. 

** No, I would rather do it myself.” 

“Then shall I help you from the saddle? ” 

* Do you think I should have time? ” 

“Trémor and Miss Severn have not come; you will 
have plenty of time,” answered Paul. 

Mademoiselle Chazé slipped quickly from her saddle, 


222 APIS GAD Y' 


but before she was aware of his intention, the young 
man had caught her in his arms and placed her on the 
ground. 

* You frightened me, Monsieur Paul,” she said re- 
proachfully. 

“Oh! I beg your pardon,” he implored; “ are you 
angry? Did I hurt you?” 

* You did not hurt me, but I do not like to have peo- 
ple rough.” 

She spoke gently; but her face had clouded. Paul 
bent his head. 

“Forgive me,” he repeated; “I was wrong. I have 
vexed, troubled you, I who would do anything to save 
you annoyance.” 

Then, as she made no reply, alarmed by her silence, 
he continued : 

“Be kind, Simone; your heart is full of compassion 
for those who suffer, the sick, the poor; well, imagine 
that I am a poor man who needs your pity. Alas! I 
have nothing interesting about me; I don’t beat my 
breast and call Heaven to witness my woes — yet 
I am unhappy, I assure you.” 

Simone had listened in surprise; at the last words she 
started. 

“You are unhappy? What makes you so? ” 

‘I cannot tell you,” replied Paul; “ Jacques has for- 
bidden me.” 

“Ts it anything bad?” questioned Simone, opening 
her eyes very wide. 

** Anything bad, oh! don’t i imagine that.” 

He stopped, hesitated, then yielding to impulse: 


APRIL’S LADY 223 


“It is only that. I love you, Simone, and Jacques 
thinks me unworthy.” 

“ You love me.” 

It was a murmur, almost a sigh. 

Startled, the pretty child had hidden her face with 
both hands, but she suddenly removed them and Paul 
saw that she was smiling with eyes full of tears. 

“¢ You love me,” she repeated. ‘* But that is no harm, 
Monsieur Paul.” 

** Oh! how lovely you are,” cried the young man. 

He longed to kneel and kiss the hands watered with 
such precious tears, but remembered very opportunely 
that he and Mademoiselle Chazé were not alone. 

‘Then you are willing that I should be your hus- 
band. Speak, speak quickly.” 

“ Yes, I am willing,” replied Simone gently, “‘ but you 
must ask Thérése.” 

“Oh! my beautiful Simonette! If you only knew 
how I love you, how happy we shall be.” 

He had forgotten Jacques’s charges, and gave himself 
up without restraint to the happiness of being loved by 
this little frank angel. 

Besides, no one was thinking of interrupting this love 
duet. They were waiting solely for Miss Severn and 
Michel Trémor to arrive. When they appeared at the © 
edge of the clearing, a burst of exclamations and cheers 
greeted them. 

** You see, Michel, we are the last,’ said Suzanne, ex- 
cited by this noisy reception. 

She gave her mare a violent blow with her whip, and 
dashed at full gallop across the ruts, holes, and logs, 


224 APRIL S “LADY 


dangerously hidden by the tall grass. Almost instantly 
the animal, maddened by the horse flies which had at- 
tacked it, sprang aside, and reared. It was swift as a 
flash of lightning. Pépa was falling. Instinctively 
clearing herself from the saddle, Suzanne threw herself 
with a sudden movement to one side. She was aware 
of a shock, then her senses failed. 

When she recovered consciousness, she was in Madame 
Sainval’s landau, the horses were trotting. She met an 
anxious gaze fixed eagerly on her and saw Michel very 
pale, supporting her with an arm passed around her 
shoulders. Then she felt perfectly calm. 

“Tt is nothing, Michel,” she faltered. Then her 
head rested on Michel’s breast, and she wearily closed her 
eyes. 


Colette went to the sofa where Michel was sitting, 
and laid her hand tenderly upon her brother’s shoulder. 

** You need have no more anxiety, my poor Michel,” 
she said; “the doctor has repeated to Robert what he 
told us. _ It is a miracle, but she is not hurt. The little 
wound on the forehead is trifling, and two or three days’ 
rest will cure the shock to the nerves. Poor little girl! 
What a horrible fright she has had! And we, too,” 
added Madame Fauvel, drawing a long breath of relief. 

On seeing Suzanne pale, tottering, and apparently 
unconscious of what was passing around her, with a 
wound on the forehead which the partly dried blood made 
still larger and more alarming, and Michel absolutely 
livid, speaking in curt, broken words, Colette had felt 
one of the most terrible fears of her life. 


APHIS “EADY 225 


The physician’s visit had cheered her, but one would 
have said that Michel dared not share his sister’s relief ; 
while she was speaking, he seemed to listen only by an 
effort, his head bent, his manner dazed. 

** Robert is sure that the doctor is not ‘anxious? ” he 
asked in an expressionless voice. 

** Perfectly sure.” 

He went on in the same monotonous tone as if his 
thoughts were far away: 

“JT think the very thick tall grass broke the fall a 
little. I saw that it was a dry branch that cut her fore- 
head.” 

Madame Fauvel went on talking gently, saying every- 
thing which could reassure Michel. Since taking a 
bath, Susy was feeling calmer and stronger. She suf- 
fered a little pain in her head, but there was no fever, 
no bad symptom. She had just fallen asleep. 

Michel rose. ‘I am going,” he said. 

* But you will dine here?” cried the young matron 
astonished. 

“No, I prefer to go home.” 

“Why, that would be absurd,” Colette persisted. 
‘Stay, you shall hear how she is, perhaps even see 
Susy.” 

** Oh! I will come back after dinner.” 

* But, my poor brother, you are tired, exhausted.” 

“*T entreat you, Colette,” he murmured; “I must go 
back.” 

He never knew how he found himself in his study in 
the tower of Saint-Sylvére. With the precision of an 
automaton, he had followed the familiar path. Fixed 


226 APRIL’S. LADY 


in his brain the same thought held possession of him: 
** If she had been killed or seriously wounded; if when I 
raised her in my arms, I had no longer felt the beating 
of her heart, or if I had seen her crushed, terribly mu- 
tilated —” + 

In a moment, in a few seconds! She was blooming, 
full of health, talking, laughing, joyous, and all this 
freshness, this youth, this joy might have been only a 
memory. Yes, in so brief a time, all might have been 
ended. Under the impression of the void seen for an 
instant, Michel felt that for a month, the hope of mak- 
ing Suzanne his own had been his whole life, his sole 
cause for existence. And whatever he might do, how- 
ever he might reason, he saw Suzanne dead, and like a 
mechanical refrain constantly returned the two words: 
** My darling, my darling —” 

A tearless sob shook his broad shoulders. And yet, 
gradually, in spite of the anxiety which, notwithstand- 
ing the physician’s soothing words, did not abandon 
him, a strange joy entered his heart, absorbed his whole 
being. For he no longer doubted, he knew well that he 
loved the little April Fiancée chance had given him — 
loved her passionately. 


Part Third 


rare 
te 
Neca 





PART THIRD 


I 
Towarp eight o’clock, returning to Castelflore, 


Michel was calmer. He found in the drawing-room 
Monsieur Sainval, Monsieur Languille, and Robert, who 
repeated what Colette had already said. Almost im- 
mediately, Madame Fauvel entered and took her brother 
to Suzanne’s room. 

The young girl was very pale, with a delicate pallor 
that looked like ivory in contrast with the raw, bluer 
whiteness of the sheets and pillows; her features had 
gradually relaxed, and the nervous over-excitement 
which had alarmed Colette and old Antoinette had 
lessened. When Michel and his sister approached the 
bed, Suzanne smiled sweetly, putting out her hand a 
little. 

The linen bandage that covered her forehead, beneath 
which escaped a few rebellious curls, the short, curly 
braid that lay on one side of her face, gave her an air 
-of extreme youth. Trémor had sworn to control his 
emotion, but he was afraid to trust his voice. Without 
speaking, he clasped the hand Miss Severn extended in 
his own. 

* Michel,” said the young girl, “ the doctor was very 
gallant; he told me that I was like the children who 
know how to fall without hurting themselves, that I was 


an admirable rider, that I had shown a coolness worthy 
229 


230 APRIES- (LADY 


of praise, but on the whole, he was not quite certain that 
some good genius might not be mixed up in the affair.” 

Then, in the plaintive voice which possibly was ren- 
dered more languid by the unconscious coquetry of the 
invalid who wants to be pitied, she added: 

“I was terribly frightened, my poor Michel.” 

Trémor convulsively pressed the hand he had not yet 
relinquished. 

* So was I,” he murmured. 

** Poor brother,” added Colette; “he was as pale as 
you.” 

Suzanne’s eyes rested more intently on her future hus- 
band. . 

*¢'Then you would have been sorry if I had died? ” 

He had the strength to smile. 

** What a question! Would not you have been sorry 
if I had died? ” 

“‘ Yes, I should have been very sorry.” 

“But, tell me,” he asked, kneeling beside the bed, 
** you are not suffering ; how do you feel? ” 

She shook her head slightly. 

“JT am not suffering; I am very tired, and my head 
aches a little, that is all. The doctor is right, Michel, it 
is a miracle; only the doctor is an old unbeliever. For 
my part, I thank God, Who has protected me. Oh! I 
am very grateful to Him. I did not have the least wish 
to die. You will thank Him, too, won’t you? ” 

* Yes, little Zanne.”’ 

She still smiled, looking so pretty, so sincere, that 
tears rose to Michel’s eyes. Stooping, he kissed the . 
curly braid, murmuring: 


APRIL'S ~bADY 231 
** May you sleep well.” 


** And you, too,” she answered sweetly. 

-Then as Trémor reached the door, she called him back. 

** And Pépa, Michel, my poor Pépa? ” 

“She came down again quietly on her four hoofs, 
your horrible Pépa,” he said, mentally vowing never 
again to trust his dearest possession to the ‘ horrible 
Pépa.” 

The next day Suzanne remained in bed, but the follow- 
ing one she was allowed to sit up, on condition that for 
two more she would keep absolutely quiet. 

On reaching Castelflore, Michel found her in the 
boudoir, where she was obediently lying down. She 
wore one of Colette’s dressing gowns, almost lost in the 
folds of pink surah. A bluish ring still surrounded her 
eyes, but her colour had returned. 

At the'moment Michel entered, Colette was standing 
by the lounge, arranging some soft cushions under 
Suzanne’s head. 

“‘ Look, sir,” she cried gaily, “ here is a pretty little 
girl playing sick in one of her mamma’s gowns.” 

* Ts it really a game? ” asked Trémor affectionately. 

** Almost,” murmured Suzanne. 

She looked extremely comfortable, her head sunk 
among the cushions, And Suzanne enjoyed feeling 
herself really beloved by Colette, Monsieur Fauvel, 
the friends who had hurried to Castelflore to en- 
quire for her, above all, by this grave and sometimes 
rude fiancé, who had suddenly grown very gentle, al- 
most tender. 

“She is as pink as her gown,” remarked the young 


232 wii * LADY 


man, his smiling eyes wandering from Suzanne to Col- 
ete. 

The young girl began to laugh happily. 

“You are growing very complimentary, Michel,” she 
said. ‘It is nice to be sick.” 

She looked at Michel and then continued: 

‘“‘ But it is tiresome to keep quiet to order, when one 
has quicksilver in one’s veins. ‘Two days, just think of 
it! You will be as kind as Colette, you will stay with 
me all day long to-day?” 

“Tf you wish.” 

** And all day to-morrow? ” 

“ All day to-morrow. I will only go to Paris with 
Robert in five days, when you are quite well.” 

He smiled. Suzanne longed to add: “ To amuse me, 
you will pay me court — you know, as you were to do 
on the ride we missed,” but she held back the sentence, 
fearing that Michel’s reply might be terribly disap- 
pointing. Then, grateful to him for deferring his de- 
parture: 

“ Colette,” she said, “ compared with your brother, 
the Good Samaritan was a very insignificant personage.” 

** It is certainly a great merit to spend the day with 
you. I shall dispense with admiring him for it,” replied 
Colette. 

Suzanne raised her eyes to see Michel, who sat a little 
behind her. 

* Perhaps other people might think as you do — but 
Michel.” 

The real Susy was still very much alive. It was the 
old glance that sought Michel, asking a denial, and 


APRIL:S. LADY. 233 


Michel, who had resolved not to flatter this ever-present 
coquetry, affected silence, but his fiancée’s hand lay on 
the back of the lounge very near his face, and he could 
not resist the temptation of pressing his lips to it, so 
the young girl found the answer sufficient. 

This time of captivity in the boudoir was very pleas- 
ant. While Colette, bent over her frame, was em- 
broidering, Trémor kept his promise. It was an ex- 
quisite joy to him to spend these hours of intimacy with 
Suzanne, but it was also a little intoxicating. Yet 
Michel had not uttered one word of love. He was still 
haunted by the fear that Susy would have gloried in 
conquering the only man who had not declared himself 
her humble slave, and he desired that a confession from 
him should render her happy rather than triumphant. 

Suzanne reasoned little. She allowed herself to en- 
joy, with a sort of indolence, this sweet and subtle hap- 
piness. 

Once, not very long ago — it was the night before 
the ride prevented by the accident — she had asked her- 
self: ** How do people know that they are in love? ” and 
the question was not yet answered. 

A complicated work had been accomplished in Su- 
zanne’s mind. She had seen love around her, and had 
felt a vague desire to be the first, the only one in a manly 
and tender soul. She had been jealous of Michel’s inno- 
cent attentions to Madame de Lorge, jealous even to 
weeping of the woman formerly worshipped, of the 
formidable shadow, which perhaps still stood between 
her and her future husband. She had sobbed when, the 
day after the ball, he had reproached her not in the name 


234 APR S: LADY. 


of an affection that would have touched her, but from 
a sort of masculine pride which had seemed disgusting. 

Then Michel was moved, he had besought her, he had | 
knelt before his fiancée. Ah! Suzanne had really had 
one moment’s never-to-be forgotten triumph, when she 
saw Michel at her feet. And since that moment she 
had felt with more intensity the impression which had 
at first amazed her, that she no longer lived in the hours 
of his absence. But was the feeling which thus took 
so many forms and insinuated itself into Suzanne’s life, 
love? 

Then there was the ride to Franchard, the accident 
of the Butte-aux-Chévres. On opening her eyes, weak 
and crushed as she was, Suzanne had noticed Michel’s 
pallor, met his despairing gaze, and had then felt so 
calm, so calm and happy in the arms which supported 
her. 

And since? 

Did Michel remember the promise made in the wood, 
‘or was his heart moved solely by the thought of the dan- 
ger incurred? Susy could not determine, but one fact 
was undeniable: since the day at the Butte-aux-Chévres, 
Michel had had “the manner of an engaged man.” 
True, he said nothing more than a brother might have 
done; yet he gave her more notice, looked at her more 
than a brother or a “ comrade,” and in his eyes, his 
words, his silences, there was something which surprised 
the young girl and rendered her strangely happy. 

It was infinitely sweet to see this serious face brighten 
when she smiled, this scornful man bow to the whims of 
a poor little goose in a pink gown. - 


APRIL Ss. LaDy 235 


Michel had proposed to read aloud to Miss Severn, 
and the idea had pleased her, but at the word novel, she 
had made a face. 

* Do you like novels? ” she asked. 

‘** Yes, sometimes, as a rest, when they are well written 
and not wholly devoid of ideas.” 

‘For my part, when I want ideas, as you say, I don’t 
seek them in novels, and when I want chatter, I find 
enough of it in society. There remain sentimental ad- 
ventures —” 

6 Well? 9 

** Well, when I think they are fictitious, they don’t 
interest me, and if I could suppose them real, that the 
writer would reveal his personal life, I should condemn 
him too much to enjoy them.” 

“ Why? ” questioned Colette, amused. 

** Because I think that when one has such memories, it 
is better to keep them very closely to one’s self; that is 
all.” 

“Then what is to be read?” asked Michel gently. 
“ Tell me what you are reading yourself; I will take up 
where you left off.” 

* Thierry’s Merovingian History,” replied Miss Sev- 
ern calmly. 

* Doesn’t it put you to sleep? ” cried Colette admir- 
ingly. 

* Put me to sleep! Why, it is superb! It is a whole 
world resuscitated. We are in it, I tell you; we know 
them, see them, understand with the ideas of their period 
all these vanished beings. It is more romantic than any 
imaginable romance, if one cares for adventures, and 


236 ot aa ald Duhon oe By, Ba’ 


yet it is actual life. Those are the kind of books I love.” 

They could not make her change. Colette concluded 
that little Zanne was born to marry a historian, and 
Michel read the book which aroused this enthusiasm. 

Certainly this time of imprisonment was pleasant, so 
pleasant that Susy, glad to feel still a little languor — 
oh! very little — did not think of going out, as the doc- 
tor had given her permission. 

The fourth day Michel obtained permission to read 
poetry and, for more than an hour, he passed from 
Musset’s to Sully, Prudhomme, Coppée, Verlaine, and 
Henri de Régnier, choosing only very refined, calm lines, 
yet thrilling with an intense, restrained feeling, the 
verse that can be read in that best moment of love which 
is not when we have said, “‘ I love you.” 

Suzanne at first listened with a sort of smiling scep- 
ticism, then with wondering pleasure; at last she was com- 
pletely charmed. 

Toward four o’clock Colette was summoned to receive 
Monsieur Pontmaury and his son; then Michel said: 

* Do you want me to read you something I love 
almost to suffering, whose every line seems to me to con- 
tain a fibre of my flesh? I will not read you the whole; 
but these verses have a powerful charm for me.” 

** Read them,” said the young girl. 

’ Then opening the “ Destinées”’ he read several lines 
from the “ House of the Shepherd,” those in which the 
poet laments the past, what “ will never be seen twice,” 
where he addresses the woman he loves in caressing, lull- 
ing lines: 


APRIE’S LADY. 237 


*‘ Hast thou no wish, O languid traveller, 
Dreaming, thy brow upon my breast to lean? 
Come, from the threshold of the rolling house, 
Those who have passed and those who will, are seen. 
All human scenes that rise pure minds before 
Will glow for thee when, fronting our own door, 
The long, long, silent land doth stretch, I ween. 


With drooping lashes, her head resting against the 
back of the armchair, Suzanne listened to this sorrowful 
sigh of a very noble and very proud soul, but drawn by 
an irresistible power, Michel’s eyes left the page and 
suddenly sought hers. He vaguely felt that at this 
moment — perhaps the first——they understood each 
other. The silence lasted scarcely a few seconds. He 
dared not speak, trembling lest he was deceiving him- 
self. 

Hearing nothing more, Suzanne raised her heavy 
lids, met the look whose caress rested upon her, and low-. 
ered her eyes. 

“No,” she said, as if answering her own thoughts, 
“you have not the soul of a pessimist. Those who 
rebel against life are not the real pessimists, they are 
the men who expect something from it, who believe in 
happiness. ‘You believe in it.” 

* And you?” he questioned in'a very low tone. 

** T believe in it, too,” she murmured, “ I believe in it 
with all my heart.” . 

But someone rapped lightly at the door. 

* Are friends being received? ” asked a gentle voice. 

“You, Mademoiselle, pray come in,” cried Trémor, 


238 APRILS “LADY 


assuming, with a praiseworthy effort, the tone of a man 
charmed by the surprise. 

Simone slipped her brown head through the half- 
open doorway, then entered. 

‘Did you come alone, Mademoiselle?” asked Michel 
at the end of a moment. 

“ Thérése is at home, still ill; I am with Jacques. I 
left him in the conservatory with Monsieur and Madame 
Fauvel.” 

“T am going to join them.” 

And he went out, passing Antoinette, who was bring- 
ing the tea. 


II 


S UZANNE, on recovering from the confusion into 
which Simone’s unexpected arrival had thrown her, was 
struck by the grayish pallor of the young girl’s face. 

‘Have you been ill, Simone?” she asked. ‘ One 
would think that —” 

But Simone quickly interrupted her. 

* Not at all! ” she cried. 

Then, seizing the first pretext for ohaneing the 
course of Suzanne’s ideas, she motioned to the letters 
Antoinette had just brought in. 

“Susy, don’t let me keep you from reading them, I 
beg you,” she said. 

“JT have plenty of time,” replied Miss Severn, 
*T am receiving letters only from tradesmen. I had 
news yesterday from the Béthunes. I would rather 
talk.” 

“You are very kind,” said Mademoiselle Chazé, with 
somewhat forced enthusiasm. ‘* Then let me congratu- 
late you; you look splendidly. ‘Thérése will be so 
pleased. . Oh! what a fright you gave us, you naughty 
Susy.” 

The subject was fully discussed, while Suzanne served 
the tea and the cakes, then Simone stooped and picked 
up a little book which had fallen on the carpet. 

** What are you reading? oh! Musset.” 

* Will you please put that down, Mademoiselle Si- 


mone,” cried Suzanne laughing. ‘“‘ Musset is not for 
239 


240 APRIL'S: LADY 


little girls. He will do for grown-up ones — like me. 
And again, when the future husband permits it.” 

* But I know some of Musset’s things, Suzanne. The 
May Night, Lucie, Ninon —” 

“Dear me. I thought they were strict about your 
reading.” ; 

** Thérése is a little so— but it is not Thérése who 
read Musset to me,” said the young girl blushing. 

* Come, come, who then? ” said Suzanne, amused. 

But Mademoiselle Chazé’s eyes filled with tears and, 
suddenly putting her head on Suzanne’s shoulder, the 
poor child burst into tears. 

* Oh! Susy, Susy, I am very unhappy.” 

“T am certainly allotted to the part of confidante,” 
_thought Susy. 

She kissed Simone, then began to scold her gently. 

“ Come, Simone, little Simone — what grieves you so? 
Haven’t you confidence in me? ” 

** Oh! yes.” 

“Then speak frankly instead of crying. A secret is 
so heavy when it is borne alone.” 

Simone smiled sadly. 

“Tam going to tell you — it is rather hard — but I 
— oh! it is very hard.” 

** Do you want me to help you? It concerns a young 
man —” 

** Oh! Susy, how well you guess.” 

“This young man is the one who danced with you so 
often at the Chesnaie ball, the one who read to you the 
May Night and Ninon. It is Paul Réault.” 

6“ Yes.” 


APRIL S LADY: 241 


“That is no reason for you to hide your eyes, Si- 
mone; he loves you very much, and you — you love him 
a little, don’t you? This is the beginning of the story. 
Now I will listen.” 

“Oh, Suzanne, the story is so sad. The other day, 
you know, the day you fell, Paul told me that he — 
that he —” ’ 

“ That he loved you? ” 

“Yes. And I was so happy, so happy — but — oh! 
Suzanne, Jacques is not willing that I should be Paul’s 
wife. They quarrelled, Paul has gone — and — oh! I 
am afraid he will blow his brains out.” 

Cruel as it might seem, Miss Severn could not help 
laughing. 

** No, my dear, no; in the first place poor Paul has so 
few brains; then people don’t kill themselves when they 
are young, energetic, and beloved by a sweet little girl 
like you. Let us reason instead of crying. What does 
Thérése say? Is she as savage as her Jacques? ” 

“ Thérése was very kind. She tried to comfort me, 
she calmed her husband a little, and she told me that 
Jacques would certainly consent to our marriage if Paul 
was courageous, patient, and tried to obtain a situation. 
But a situation isn’t to be had in a hurry.” 

** Oh, Simone, more tears. Then the important thing 
is that Paul should become very sensible. Is he inclined 
to be? ” 

* Oh! yes,” 

* Then I have an idea; listen, darling,” said Suzanne, 
a thought suddenly flashing through her mind. “I 
will speak to Michel about —” 


242 ARKILis “LADY: 


“ To Monsieur Trémor? ” 

“Why not? I know by chance that a friend of 
Michel, Monsieur Daran, whose father owns distilleries 
in Louisville, is looking for an engineer.— Oh! 
he would have to go to America. Would Paul make up 
his mind to that? ” 

“Tam sure he would, Suzanne. And I would go 
with him,” cried the young girl. ‘“ But suppose Mon- 
sieur Daran or Monsieur Trémor did not wish it? ” she 
went on in alarm. 

* Monsieur Daran will want whatever Monsieur Tré- 
mor asks of him; I am certain of that, Simone. As 
for Monsieur Trémor —I will try to be very eloquent. 
Perhaps Monsieur Trémor will wish what I ask,” Su- 
zanne continued with a sort of joyous pride. ‘“ He is 
very fond of your brother-in-law, and of Paul — 
And I hope Paul will try to be a model engineer.” 

“ Oh! Susy, how I love you! ” cried Simone, throwing 
her arms around Miss Severn’s neck. ‘ And we shall be 
happy, even in America. Paul loves me so much. And 
I love him. Ah! Susy, we shall have such a charming 
home! ” 

Suzanne smiled; she suddenly felt indulgent to this joy 
of loving at which formerly she was disposed to jest, 
though somewhat bitterly. 

When Simone had gone she closed her eyes in a sort of 
rapture, asking herself what words Michel had had on 
his lips at the time she entered. 

If he should come and say what, perhaps, he had 
thought just now: 

“TI love you, Susy; I have forgotten that beautiful — 


APRIL'S: EADY 243 


Comtesse Wronska; there is for me only one woman in 
the world, and that is you,— my dear little fiancée, my 
darling, I love you.” Oh! if he should say these words, 
if he should say something she could not foresee which 
would be very strange and very sweet on his lips. She 
had a great longing for these decisive words, yet such 
a fear of them that she already heard herself saying 
all sorts of foolish things, to delay the moment for which 
her soul was yearning. 

In the weariness of waiting, she suddenly saw the 
letters Antoinette had brought in, and absently opened 
the first envelope under her hand. Her glance wan- 
dered over the paper, then suddenly darted to the signa- 
ture, while her cheeks paled. 

** Comtesse Wronska,” she said, almost aloud. 

For an instant she hesitated, but only an instant. Let 
her who is without sin cast the first stone. 

The note began: 

“My friend . . .” 

Suzanne read on: 


* Barsizon, Friday. 
“* My Friend: 

*T can call you so, can I not? There are hours when 
it would be so sweet to rely upon one true friendship. 
I shall be at Barbizon two days, and would like to see 
you; to ask your advice, to talk business. Can you 
imagine it? I, who detest business, but it must be done. 
I am trying to realise on the little property I possess, 
and I feel very lonely, very much deserted, having no 
one to consult except my poor mother. 


244 APRIV?S LADY 


** Come, I entreat you; give me a moment of your life. 
Oh! I know that the past, the hapless past, which awoke 
for one instant on the shore at Trouville, to. which chance 
had led me, is not dead between us. But by a strange 
contradiction, something still draws us together; it is 
that neither is happy; we cannot be. You are going 
to marry through discouragement a young girl to whom 
you are indifferent, an insignificant child who will not 
understand you, and whom you will never love.— 
I have ruined my life, and shall bear the burden of my 
error. It is very heavy.’ 

“J shall see you soon, my dear Michel, shall I not? 

* ComTEssE WRONSKA. 

* P.S. Not knowing your address at Paris or Rivailler, 

I am sending my letter to Castelflore.” 


Suzanne had twice paused, choking, her brow covered 
with a cold perspiration. When she had finished, she 
laid the letter by her side; her hands shook with pas- 
sionate rage. QO! that woman! that woman! Suzanne 
had always feared this, always! So Michel had seen 
Comtesse Wronska again. He still loved her, since this 
creature’s mere presence “ awoke the past,” since the 
woman whom he had formerly loved dared to address him 
as her friend, her only friend. 

Through the young girl’s fevered brain darted ideas 
which were sometimes translated into words and sen- 
tences: “ Oh! cruel, cruel! He said that he would never 
love me, that I did not know how to understand him! 
— And this before even knowing me! Oh! how spiteful 
men are — and stupid! Perhaps this Faustine is neither 


APRIL’S LADY 245 


prettier nor more intelligent than I am. Oh! she is 
bold enough; to write in that way! ‘My friend, 
my dear Michel!’ As if he were hers, as if she had 
the right to say my! Was I mad to believe that Michel 
loved me? And I was going to love him, the hateful 
fellow, perhaps let him see it. But I don’t love him, 
oh! no, I don’t —I hate him. .:. . If he thinks I 
am going to condescend to be jealous of his comtesse, 
he’s mistaken; I don’t care, oh! I don’t care! ” 

In her wrath, the poor child did not attempt to con- 
sider the letter which had snatched her from her vague 
happiness, to give truth and possible exaggeration their 
due share, above all, to allot Michel his exact portion 
of wrongdoing. She knew that Michel had again seen 
Comtesse Wronska, whose mysterious influence she had 
always feared, that he had spoken to this woman of his 
poor little fiancée, spoken of her with disdain — 
Oh! that was worse than everything! How sure Com- 
tesse Wronska must have felt of Michel to thus summon 
the man whom she had formerly betrayed, deserted, the 
miserable creature!— He would go to Barbizon; 
he would once more see the enchantress, and then — 
then he would forget the wrong formerly done, and 
poor little Zanne. 

A heavy sob escaped Miss Severn’s breast, but anger 
dried her tears, for she heard the familiar step she had 
just expected so joyfully, and she did not wish to have 
the executioner see his victim weep. 

The executioner had little thought of Comtesse 
Wronska, to whom he had not given the slightest sign 
of life since their meeting at Trouville. He opened 


246 APRIL:S LADY 


the door eagerly, like a happy man, and entered, his 
eyes shining with a gentle light. 

“Here I am at last,’”? he said. ‘ Monsieur Pont- 
maury has carried off Jacques and Mademoiselle Chazé 
in his automobile, I —” 

Then he was struck by the change in Suzanne’s face 
and, clasping her hands, asked: 

“* My Susy, what is the matter? ” 

She abruptly released herself. 

*“* Here is a letter for you, Michel. Antoinette gave 
it to me, and I opened it by mistake. Take your prop- 
erty.” 

On recognising Faustine’s handwriting, Michel half 
understood. His first impulse was to assure Suzanne 
that he loved only herself, his fiancée, and that no tie 
existed between him and that woman, but we rarely yield 
to the first impulse, especially when it is the good 
one. 

* Will you explain,” he said, ‘ how it happens that 
you opened a letter addressed to me? ” 

‘JT have told you that it was given to me, I opened 
it by mistake, and —I read it because — because the 
first words made me wish to know the rest, that is all. 
But don’t be uneasy ; ‘ shall not repeat the Ma ri 

* You will be wise.’ 

If Susy had wept or even showed a little grief, Michel 
would have been kneeling at her feet, but still quivering 
with the anger of her wounded pride, Miss Severn would 
have blushed to yield to such weakness. 

Michel had read the letter to the end, perhaps to keep 
himself in countenance. He again glanced over it. 


APRITTS LADY 247 


Suzanne, exasperated, went on with clenched teeth: 

“You shall not go to Barbizon; you shall not go; I 
forbid it.” 

Trémor raised his eyes and looked steadily at the 
young girl. 

“You forbid me?” he repeated. 

Then he interrupted himself; Suzanne’s eyes were 
glittering, he thought he saw a tear in them. 

“Come,” he said, trying to take her hands again; 
“ don’t get so excited; it is absurd. I grew angry too 
soon. I was sharp, I — let me explain —” 

She pushed him away with a nervous laugh. 

“ Explain how badly the insignificant child under- 
stands the great man you are? Thank you. It is 
enough to have told that horrible woman.” 

Suddenly chilled, Trémor had recoiled. Ah! it was 
that sentence of Comtesse Wronska which had wounded 
Suzanne! She was humiliated. 

“ Then,” he replied, “‘ you believe I could have said 
that you were insignificant and that you did not under- 
stand me? Do me the honour to think that, if I had 
so considered you, I should not have had the bad taste 
to make Comtesse Wronska my confidante.” 

In all sincerity, Michel did not remember having ex- 
pressed such an opinion. His recollection of the strange, 
brief interview on the jetty of Trouville was not at all 
definite. What he did know was that when Comtesse 
Wronska’s presence evoked the phantom of Faustine 
Morel, he had not given his poor little fiancée a single 
thought. 

‘You did not tell her either that you were marrying 


248 APRIL’?S: LADY 


from discouragement? You have said as much to me. 
I am not so insignificant as I look, and I can read.” 

Miss Severn had risen, standing very straight in her 
long gown; each word farther complicated the misunder- 
standing. A single one would have brought together 
these two people who loved each other, but it had risen 
to the lips of neither. Their hearts suffered, but their 
pride uttered the plaint of these wounded hearts. Both 
were right and both wrong; there lay the secret of their 
miserable quarrel. Yet Suzanne was so pale that Michel 
was alarmed. His fiancée, perhaps, did not love him. 
But he loved her. Whether the suffering that blanched 
her face was vanity or grief, he felt her pain and wanted 
to relieve it. 

“T beg you,” he said again, “calm yourself. I 
swear that I have said nothing to Comtesse Wronska 
that could offend your dignity; I swear a 

She had taken a few steps, choking a little, but with 
her head held high. 

** What is the use of so many words,” she interrupted 
with infinite impertinence. ‘“ Go to Barbizon, my dear 
friend, and enjoy there all the happiness possible 
. . . awake the past! Perhaps this time no Comte 
Wronski will appear— You must not be too resent- 
ful or too proud.— Go, go, it is the best thing for you 
to do.” 2 

This sarcasm enraged Trémor. 

“ Ah, that is the best thing for me to do,” he cried. 
** Well, I will go; you are right; I will go all the more 
because I cannot understand through what ridiculous 
feeling of pride you could consider as an insult my 


APRIECS- LADY 249 


visit to two women who are very lonely and very un- 
happy. As to the past, have no anxiety; nothing could 
wake it; it is wholly dead . . . and my heart too. 
I will follow your advice, Suzanne, and go to Barbizon 
to-morrow.” 

“Tf you do, Michel,” Suzanne instantly retorted, 
contradicting herself with more angry excitement than 
sound logic, “I tell you that everything will be over 
between us.” 

Michel shrugged his shoulders. 

“ What you say is childish; you know that as ell as 
I do.” 

“Childish? I don’t believe it. Ill marry somebody 
else.” 

* Whom, if you please? ” asked the young man. 

Suzanne drew herself up, exclaiming furiously: : 

“Who tells you that I love no one, that I have not 
suffered and struggled? ” 

He vainly tried to control himself. 

“Oh, why, I beg to enquire? I suppose nothing 
compelled you to accept my offer? ” 

She looked at him scornfully, then in a stinging 
voice: 

“You forget my love of money, my dear friend.” 

Trémor almost cried out in his pain, but he bit his 
lips. 

“Do not suffer, do not struggle, Suzanne,” he said 
with great calmness; “ only reflect—I do not know 
whether I am acquainted with the happy mortal to 
whom you allude, but I might break his head before your 
wedding day .. .” 


250 APRS: GAD Y. 


“ Oh, I don’t care,’’ answered Suzanne with the ut- 
most sincerity. 

Flung into the midst of the quarrel, this little ab- 
surdity seemed to Michel positively delicious. In the 
depths of his soul, perhaps, he had instantly appreciated 
the young girl’s threats at their real value, but for an — 
instant the idea that his fiancée might love another had 
maddened him to a degree that made him see red, and 
he had talked as foolishly as Suzanne herself. 

** You have made me forget,” he said, recovering his 
self-control, ‘that you are only a spoiled child. But 
listen to me— let me speak, I beg,” he added with 
authority. ‘I have told you that I no longer loved 
Comtesse Wronska. I repeat it. I also repeat what I 
said just now, that nothing was said between her and 
myself for which your pride would have a right to re- 
proach me. I met the comtesse at Trouville by accident, 
the night before my departure for Norway. I have not 
seen her since. Nevertheless, I shall go to Barbizon to- 
morrow, first because I shall thus perform an act of 
courtesy, and then because I wish to show you that, 
however ready I may be to fulfil the wishes you choose to 
express, I shall never receive orders from anyone.” 

Suzanne clenched her hands, burying the nails in the 
palms but, in her rage, found no words to answer. 

“JT am somewhat rude,” added Trémor, “but I 
warned you that I had a very bad temper.” 

There was a silence, then he said more gently: 

‘TI will return to the tower of Saint-Sylvére; it will 
be better for us both. We shall be calmer to-mor- 
row.” 


APRIL’S LADY 251 


He had a confused hope for a word that would detain 
him, but Suzanne’s answer was very distinct. 

“You are right; go away; it is infinitely better. 
Good-bye.” 

Yet Miss Severn mechanically put out her hand, and 
Michel had a cowardly desire to draw the young girl 
suddenly into his arms and tell her that she had nothing 
to fear from Comtesse Wronska nor any other woman, 
and at a single word, the most repentant, the most hum- 
ble of men would give up going to Barbizon. But he 
knew how to be brave and, pressing very slightly the hand 
extended to him, he left the room. 

A few seconds after, Colette entered; Suzanne had 
quickly taken up a book. 

“ What is the matter, little Zanne? ” asked Madame 
Fauvel affectionately. ‘ Michel came to bid me fare- 
well, with some foolish excuse.” 

* We had a little quarrel, for a trifle, as usual,” re- 
plied Suzanne. 

She had the reserve of her grief, and besides she 
feared the indiscretion of Colette, who often talked at 
random. Michel must know nothing of what was pass- 
ing in her mind, or the tears burning on her lashes, 
which she would not let flow. 

** A lover’s quarrel? ” 

* Yes.” And Miss Severn spoke of the Pontmaurys. 


Til 


M ICHEL was less compassionate than he had af- 
fected to be concerning the fate of the two “ lonely and 
unhappy women,” who appealed to him for aid. He 
had long since lost all illusion about Madame Morel’s 
character, and now thought he knew Faustine too well to 
be the dupe of the sincerity of her despair. At Paris, 
and again at Trouville, he had thought he understood _ 
that Stanislas Wronski’s widow was ready to refasten the 
broken chain. The beautiful comtesse was now risking 
a last play; she summoned a friend, and hoped to keep 
a husband. 

This was what Michel had read in the lines of bitter 
resignation from Barbizon. The brilliant siren who had 
dazzled the Russian court would consider the love of her 
former admirer only as a last resort. Doubtless the 
pleasure of taking from Miss Severn a future husband 
whom, perhaps, she loved, might attract Faustine; but 
let another Comte Wronski appear,— and farewell to the 
renewed idyl! 

Indifference is merciful: Michel forgave Comtesse 
Wronska her present calculation and her past disdain, 
but there was in the unlucky letter a sentence referring 
to Suzanne which had irritated him, though he had 
avoided saying so to the young girl. 

A moment had sufficed to restore Michel’s doubts. 


Was he loved? He did not know, and yet he felt that 
252 


APRIL’S LADY 253 


—even if he were —his life would be none the less 
anxious and disturbed. He could never shake off the 
memory of what Susy had recalled the evening before 
by a childish remark which, however, expressed an actual 
fact. In consenting to marry her cousin, Miss Severn 
had thought of little except the fortune offered. Now, 
at the time when perhaps the avowal of his love was 
expected, desired — for with much pride there had also 
been a little emotion thrilling through Suzanne’s anger 
— discouragement overwhelmed Michel. Yet how he 
worshipped the capricious child! With what joy he was 
coming to her when he found her pale, with Faustine’s 
letter in her hand! Her displeasure was natural, but 
why should she have expressed only rage and humilia- 
tion? Why had not she wept? Why had she sought 
and instantly found the most cruel things that could be 
said? 

Now Suzanne must know that she was not permitted 
to say: “I forbid,” when she scorned to say: “TI en- 
treat you =" 

So he had determined to go to Barbizon, and the day 
after the quarrel he went to the station, feeling much 
more inclined to shut himself up in the tower of Saint- 
Sylvére with his books, than to listen to Madame Wron- 
ska’s woes. 

To his surprise, the name awaked only a very distant 
echo. His anger was subsiding. Faustine said she was 
unhappy. Perhaps, after all, she was. Gently, with 
deep respect, he would show her that she was on the 
wrong path. His whole happiness was the love of 
Suzanne. But if his advice was requested, he would en- 


254 APRIL’S LADY 


deavour to be the trustworthy friend of which the letter 
spoke. 

While thinking of these things, Trémor heard some 
one call him and saw Daran, whom he did not expect in 
Rivailler until the following week. 

They walked side by side a moment, then Daran asked 
where Michel was going. 

“ T take the eleven o’clock train,” he answered in a 
somewhat resigned tone; “I am going to Barbizon.” 

“To Barbizon, all alone? On business? ” 

** Yes, on business.” 

“Is it very urgent? ” 

‘Yes and no,” Michel again replied, indifferently. 

“Ts there no way of writing? And we would pass a 
pleasant day together. I have brought a lot of things 
to my house, and I have so much to tell you. Doesn’t 
that tempt you? ” 

It did tempt him greatly. He was not in the mood 
for confidences, but it seemed as if talking about old 
times would divert his thoughts. Yet he hesitated. On 
no account must Suzanne believe that he had surrendered. 

“Are you afraid of vexing your fiancée?” asked 
Daran. 

** No; she is not expecting me to-day.” 

“ Capital! Come, Trémor, is there no way of putting 
off your business.” 

“Yes,” Michel at last answered, still somewhat un- 
decidedly. 

“Then T’ll carry you off,” cried Daran; “ you shall 
write at my house. [Ill send the letter to the station, 
and we won’t part until the evening.” 


APRIL’S: LADY 255 


Miss Severn had not slept much the night before. In 
the evening she had said she was going back to her 
former mode of life, which the doctor had already au- 
thorised. 

So the next morning she prepared to deaden her 
grief and the disagreeable reflections which could not 
fail to assail her all day. Not. content with accompany- 
ing Colette to Précroix, she talked, laughed, and did her 
best to enter into the noisy welcome bestowed by Claude 
and the two little girls. Yet her imagination wandered 
far away, beneath the great trees of Barbizon, where, 
leaning on the arm of someone she knew well, moved a 
light, graceful figure. 

She involuntarily pictured Comtesse Wronska as very 
beautiful, very different from a certain little American 
girl— alas! She gave her a tall, slender person, bands 
of velvety black hair framing classic features, and a lily 
complexion. How could Michel help comparing Faus- 
tine’s statuesque profile with poor Susy’s little mobile 
face? 

Suzanne felt, at times, so little able to please him! 
She knew that she was pretty, at least that many people 
thought her so; but she could not define her own charm, 
far less consciously make it a power. And in Michel’s 
presence, she felt disarmed; all struggle was vain. 

That day Suzanne thought herself ugly and ill- 
dressed. Comtesse Wronska had only to appear to con- 
quer. And yet, why had Michel chosen his fiancée? 
Comtesse Wronska was a widow, and Michel knew it at 
the very time he had asked for the hand of Suzanne 
Severn. 


256 .  APRIL’S LADY 


Thus Suzanne tried to soothe her anxieties, while lis- 
tening absently to May Béthune’s chatter. She told 
herself that Michel was no longer the indifferent lover of 
the early days of their engagement; she lived over the 
previous hours spent in Colette’s little drawing-room. 
Then, returning to her jealous fears, she jeered at her- 
self. Michel had been touched by the danger of a deli- 
cate creature, but how far removed from real love was 
this vague affection or trivial pity! One look from 
Faustine would forever destroy this budding tenderness. 
Michel had been unable to resist Comtesse Wronska’s en- 
treaty. She had said: “TI shall be two days in Bar- 
bizon,” and on the first day he had joined her. Yet 
Miss Severn still wondered if Michel had carried out his 
intention. Nothing proved that he had gone to Bar- 
bizon and, if he had, nothing proved that he had talked 
with Comtesse Wronska about anything except busi- 
ness. 

The meeting at Trouville had been purely accidental, 
and nothing had been said which could offend his 
fiancée. Michel had told her so in a tone which gave a 
simple assertion the value of an oath. The idea of 
doubting his words had never come to Susy. 

Alas! he might answer for the past, he might protest 
that his intentions were loyal, but when he had seen the 
charmer. . . . Susy longed to avenge herself upon 
someone, Michel even more than Faustine. 

On returning home she tried to read a novel, but her 
eyes scanned the pages in vain. Then a letter was 
brought to her, dated at a village near Rivailler, and 
containing a heartbroken message from poor Paul. 


APRIL'S LADY 257 


“ Dear Miss Susy: 

* Jacques and Thérése think I am in Paris, so does 
Simone, but I did not have the courage to go away. 
You know that my happiness depends upon Jacques’s 
consent — he is his sister-in-law’s guardian ; this consent 
has been refused, and my sole hope is in you. ‘Two per- 
sons only have sufficient influence over my brother to 
make him change a decision that he has once taken, Thé- 
rése and Michel. We have won over Thérése, but 
Michel, whose intercession might perhaps be decisive, is 
too great a philosopher himself not to be a little hard 
upon blunderers like me. He will plead my cause only 
when you have persuaded him, dear Miss Susy. Michel 
worships you, and he is right. Let your voice and your 
pretty eyes take part in the matter, and all will go well. 

* To-morrow, Monday, I will be at the hunting lodge 
at the cross-roads of the Stone-Cross from four to 
six o’clock. If you and Michel will ride in that direc- 
tion, it will be a great happiness to the poor wretch who 
here assures you, dear good fairy, of his most respectful 
and absolute devotion. 

) * Your friend, 
= PAUIA 


* Poor Paul!” murmured Suzanne. 

The exclamation meant also: ‘* Poor Suzanne! You 
must address yourself to Comtesse Wronska, Paul; the 
eloquence of the pretty eyes in which you trust is likely 
to be disdained. As for the ride to the Stone-Cross, what 
irony! Michel has little idea of riding with his fiancée. 

* Poor, poor Paul! ” 


258 APRIE’S: EADY. 


The young girl did not dwell long upon this thought. 
The romance of Paul Réault and Simone Chazé seemed 
as commonplace as the yellow-covered book brought 
from Précroix. There was only one romance in the 
world, the one which had commenced on a certain March 
day, very poetically, beneath the bluish light of a Gothic 
glass window, near the mysterious tomb of a crusader. 

Miss Severn had avoided confiding in or complaining 
to her cousin who, in her joy at seeing May Béthune, had 
asked no questions. Before dinner, Monsieur Fauvel, 
who had just entered with Michel, remarked that Suzanne 
was pale, and the young girl felt her fiancée’s eyes rest- 
ing upon her, but she answered gaily that she felt per- 
fectly well. 

Michel seemed to have forgotten the discussion of the 
evening before. He had held out his hand to Susy as 
usual, even addressing a few words to her. What did 
this attitude mean? That he had gone to Barbizon, or 
that he had given up seeing Faustine? 

Sitting beside Colette, Suzanne feigned absolute indif- 
ference, but Michel’s composure exasperated her. He 
had questioned Colette about the visit to the Béthune’s, 
but had made no allusion to the employment of his own 
time during this interminable day. 

To tell the truth, it would have cost Michel something 
to confess what his pride considered as a sort of retreat. 

The letter written at Daran’s to Comtesse Wronska — 
a masterpiece of respectful courtesy in which, with an 
appearance of spontaneity, well-calculated things were 
said— would have afforded Susy the delight of a 
triumph, and Michel did not think she deserved it. He 


APRIL'S: LADY 259 


had resolved to leave the young girl in complete uncer- 
tainty. 

Susy could bear no more, she longed to cry out: 

**If you have seen this woman, I want to know it; tell 
me; tell me quickly. Whatever the truth may be, I pre- 
fer it to the ignorance that is preying upon me.” 

She still watched him, while he went on talking, play- 
ing mechanically with the envelope of Paul Réault’s 
letter. But what was the use? He was speaking of 
Monsieur Pontmaury, of the Stock Exchange. 

He had certainly seen Faustine ; he looked happy — at 
least Susy thought so. What had taken place between 
them? At any rate, what did he care for having caused 
her so much uneasiness! Oh! he was cruel. 

As Suzanne was reaching the climax of a paroxysm of 
rage an idea crossed her mind, and a little smile parted 
her compressed lips. 

With a sudden movement she seized the envelope 
_ Michel held, and snatched it from him. He glanced at 
the young girl in surprise; then she lowered her lashes 
with a somewhat confused manner, saying quickly: 

** T beg your pardon, that continual movement of your 
hand sets my nerves on edge.” 

But Michel still gazed at her, trying to see the en- 
velope she was hiding. 

** Is that a letter you received this evening? ” he could 
not help asking. 

* Of course. Then you did not see it? ” 

** T did not see it.” 

Susy hurriedly tore in pieces the envelope she had 
grasped, put them in her pocket, and bent over her book. 


260 APRS. LADY. 


Michel continued his discussion with Monsieur Fauvel, 
but Miss Severn’s object was attained; while still speak- 
ing of stocks, rumors of the Exchange, etc., he secretly 
glanced at her and, in the evening, he did the same thing 
several times. 

Struck by the rapidity with which the envelope was 
seized and destroyed, Michel had doubtless been vaguely 
uneasy. So much the better! He would suffer, wounded 
in his fine masculine vanity, and imagining all sorts of 
things. 

‘I should like to be sure he isn’t sleeping well,” she 
said to herself several times in the course of the night, 
sleeping very badly herself. 

Then she changed her mind: “I am sure that if he 
isn’t sleeping well, he is thinking of that woman.” 

The next morning, when Michel came to lunch at 
Castleflore, she felt actually savage. Her plan was 
made. 

She would go alone to the lodge of the Stone-Cross, 
and avail herself of the appointment with Paul to create 
a mystery. 

She must not think of “losing” the letter from 
Simone’s lover; it was far too plain. Miss Severn took 
another course. First she waited for a question from 
Trémor, who often asked her plans for the afternoon 
then, the enquiry not coming, she took the offensive with- 
out farther delay. 

“At what hour did you order the carriage, Co- 
lette? ” : 

* Two o’clock, was that right? ” 

“* Exactly.” 


APRIL'S “EADY 261 


It was Monsieur Fauvel who questioned, somewhat 
absently : 

‘** Where are you going, Susy? ” 

* To Marguerite Sainval’s.” 

* All alone? ” 

* Yes; Colette isn’t going.” 

Silence followed. 

** Michel,” said Suzanne, “in returning from the 
Michauds’, will it be much longer to pass around by the 
Stone-Cross? ” 

The young man seemed surprised. 

“No, why? ” 

** What road do you take? ‘The one at the right of 
the Michauds’ door? ” 

* Yes — but —” 

** Why do you ask that? ” said Colette smiling. 

* Oh! nothing, just to know.” 

The conversation changed. Robert and Michel were 
to take one of the morning trains. They expected to 
remain in Paris two or three days, and Colette over- 
whelmed her husband with messages to the conciérge and 
all the summer members of the household in their home 
in the Rue de Tilsitt. 

** Colette,” said Susy suddenly, as if she was pursuing 
the same idea, “‘ may I go to the Michauds’, after my 
visit to Marguerite? ” 

* You will not be too tired? ” 

** Why no, since you are giving me the carriage.” 

** Do as you please, darling.” 

The young girl suddenly threw her arms around Ma- 
dame Fauvel’s neck. 


262 APRILS: LADY 


*¢ Thank you, my Colinette, thank you! ” 

** What a madcap!” exclaimed Colette, affectionately 
returning the kiss. 

Susy cast a furtive glance at Michel, then murmured : 

“Pardon me; I am nervous since my accident, you 
see —” 

And going to the other end of the drawing-room, she 
sat down at the piano, lightly touching the keys. Al- 
most instantly Michel rose and leaned on the instrument 
opposite to her. 

“Do you want me to go with you to Chesnaie? ” he 
asked. 

She hastily stopped playing. 

** That would be absurd! I am going to see Mar- 
guerite.” 

* Well, to the Michauds’. I would go to Chesnaie for 
you, at any hour you appoint.” 

* No, I thank you.” 

ce Why? 99 

*¢ Because it would worry me. I want to be alone.” 

Michel looked at his fiancée more intently. 

“Is my nose crooked? ” she asked impatiently. 

“No, but you are strange. Yesterday you seemed 
gay — astonishingly so; I thought you had almost re- 
turned to conciliatory feelings, and now . . .” 

“ Now, I am very gay and not at all vexed with you. 
You know our quarrels always end so. That is the way 
with engaged people who are eager to make up. We 
forget.” 

“If you have forgotten,” the young man insisted, 


APRIL:S- -LADY 263 


“why do you refuse me permission to accompany 
you?” 

** T told you — because I want to be alone.” 

She stopped, then with a somewhat equivocal air of 
raillery : 

“ And suppose I, too, had an appointment with 
— somebody? ” 

Trémor’s face darkened. 

“There are jests which are not at all droll, you 
know.” 

* Really? ” replied little Zanne, with great imperti- 
nence. 

Then she went away. She was satisfied; Michel had 
turned a trifle pale. A few minutes after, he came to 
her. 

** You will keep the carriage at the Michauds’, won’t 
you? ” 

“JT do not know.” 

* You will be much too tired to return on foot but, 
if you absolutely insist upon wasting your strength, let 
little Louis Michaud go with you through the wood. 
The days are already much shorter; be prudent.” 

** T will see.” 

These laconic answers had a touch of defiance. 

* Susy,” cried Trémor, “ you are planning some piece 
of folly.” 

** Perhaps so,” she answered with great calmness. 

The young man felt exasperated. 

* Susy, I —” he began. 

But he restrained himself. 


264 APRIL’S LADY 


“‘ No,” he said, between his teeth, “ you shall not have 
the satisfaction of making me angry, which you have 
been trying to do for half an hour. I really don’t know 
why I spend my time in listening to your nonsense.” 

And he went to take up a paper. 


IV 
Be S Susy crossed the vestibule, ready for the drive, her 


fresh face framed in a white hat, her dainty figure in a 
blue foulard, trimmed with lace, she met Michel. 

** You look queer,” she flung at him over her shoulder. 
“Where are you going? To Barbizon?” 

“'To Daran’s,” replied Trémor curtly. 

“Daran? Has he come?” 

“Yes, yesterday.” 

‘They had gone down the steps. Susy sprang lightly 
into the carriage, sat down, arranged her gown on the 
seat, and looked at the young man. 

** Why do you look so queer? ” 

“ How queer, if you please?” replied Michel impa- 
tiently. 

“TI don’t know exactly — preoccupied, or else — 
stop, it’s something like the expression I sometimes had 
when grandmother had told me the story of Little Red 
Riding Hood, and I was a little afraid — afraid of the 
wolf, you know.” 

Michel shrugged his shoulders and, as the presence of 
the servants prevented any reply, made a sign to the 
coachman. ‘The horses instantly dashed forward. 

Suzanne was jubilant, if the word can be applied to 
the angry excitement which thrilled her at the thought 
_ that Michel would spend the day in struggling with the 


doubts and suspicions that had beset her since the even- 
265 


266 APR UES: LADY 


ing before, and perhaps pass the afternoon in wander- 
ing about the wood, between the Michauds’ house and the 
Stone-Cross,— that the proud fellow would be jealous in 
his turn. 

Miss Severn somewhat exaggerated the effect of her 
little manoeuvres upon her fiancé. 

Suzanne’s words and manner had seemed strange, 
marked by a sort of affectation unusual in the young 
girl. It was not the haste with which she had acted 
the evening before that seemed to him suspicious, 
Miss Severn was far too clever to take possession in that 
way of any letter she had desired to conceal. Besides, 
Michel thought he still saw her beautiful eyes, so pure, 
so tender. He reached the belief that Susy’s only fault 
was to arrange some childish revenge, and doubtless a 
portion of this plotted vengeance, perhaps the whole of 
it, was these questions concerning the hunting lodge of 
the Stone-Cross, these artless allusions, so plainly in- 
tended to suggest a meeting. 

A rather sad smile rested on the young man’s lips. 

How ingenious she was in causing him pain! 

The sun was shining brightly upon the crimsoning 
leaves; heather carpeted the slopes; iris and myosotis 
had bloomed in the damp ditches. But Nature’s last 
effort to be beautiful did not win a glance from the 
pedestrian who was slowly going toward Albert Daran’s 
little house. | 

Just as he was approaching the goal of his solitary 
walk, he formed a resolution. Granting one last delay 
to his cowardice, he vowed to himself that on his return 
from Paris — two or three days later — he would have 


APRIL’S: LADY 267 


the decisive explanation with Susy already too long de- 
ferred. 

After an hour’s chat, Michel left his friend and almost 
mechanically turned toward the Stone-Cross. On the 
highway, he met the carriage from Castelflore, return- 
ing empty, and questioned the coachman. Miss Severn 
had stopped at the Michauds’, and intended to return on 
foot. 

The more Michel reflected, the more singular Su- 
zanne’s conduct appeared. ‘Then he saw Paul Réault 
walking thoughtfully along the road. His heart 
seemed to stop beating and, in less than a second, one of 
those seconds of mental excitement during which we can 
re-live years, he recalled Paul’s attentions to Suzanne 
at Cannes, at Rivailler, remembered Miss Severn’s long 
conversations with Jacques’s brother, their dances at the 
Chesnaie ball, the enthusiastic admiration openly ex- 
pressed by Paul. But, by a miracle of will, he soon re- 
gained possession of himself and went to meet the young 
man, who had probably not seen him. 

“Tt is you,” he said, almost smiling; “ I thought you 
were in Paris.” 

Suddenly roused from his brooding, Paul had started. 

“In Paris? ” he replied, “ then Miss Severn has not 
told you? ” 

** Miss Severn? ” repeated Michel, while the smile van- 
ished from his lips. 

Paul was troubled for a moment then, as if making up 
his mind, slipped his arm through Michel’s. 

** Well, my dear fellow, I am going to tell you the 
whole story myself,” he exclaimed with friendly frank- 


268 APIS LADY 


ness; “ but listen indulgently for, crazy as I may ap- 
pear, I am very unhappy.” 

They reached the Stone-Cross a little before four 
o’clock. Without knowing it, Paul had acted like a 
consummate diplomat. His confidences fell into a heart 
wide open to receive them. Better, more completely than 
Miss Severn could have done, he won the cause of his 
happiness with Trémor. But he was surprised to have 
to tell this kind confessor everything. Michel explained: 

“Your letter must have come yesterday evening, and 
Susy and I have not had five minutes to talk together 
alone.” 

Paul was content with this reason; his mind was else- 
where. 

* Listen, my lad,’ said Michel, who treated his friend 
Jacques’s younger brother somewhat as if he were a 
younger brother of his own; “I will speak to Réault 
this very evening, only we must have an understanding. 
Would you be inclined to make a sacrifice, to work se- 
riously? Daran was speaking of you to me an hour 
ago.” 

The fact was that Daran, ignorant of the young 
man’s recent errors, had had the same thought as Miss — 
Severn. He knew Paul as a good fellow, intelligent 
and upright, and he hoped the tempting offer of a secure 
position at a good salary —even though it were in 
America — would decide the new engineer to shake off 
his inertia and utilise his diploma. Michel had ap- 
peared less confident when Albert explained the plan. 
Now he submitted it to this Parisian of a Paul with some 
anxiety, but at the first words the latter’s enthusiasm 


APRIL*S> LADY 269 


equalled Simone’s. At the last, he was within an ace of 
hugging Trémor. 

“Then it would suit you? ” 

“ Suit me? Why, America is the land of my dreams! 
America and Simone! My dear fellow, it is enough to 
kill one with joy! You’ll see, you'll see, I shall become 
a second Edison! Or rather, no, it will be Edison who 
will be nothing but a second Paul Réault! Jacques 
himself will sing my praises, and meanwhile he will give 
me Simone. Oh! my dear Trémor, my preserver, how 
lucky I was to meet you! ” 

Michel smiled, though not very gaily. 

** Daran is dining with me,” he said; “come too. In 
the evening, I will go and say a few words to Jacques, 
leaving Albert and you to talk the matter over.” 

With somewhat melancholy kindness, he listened to the 
future plans Paul improvised, and the grateful praise 
he bestowed upon his first confidante, Suzanne. 

“She may arrive at the Stone-Cross presently, 
Michel, trying to speak in a smiling, natural tone. “I 
am going to wait here for her.” 

Paul smiled. 

** A capital idea! She will have a pleasant surprise, 
when she sees to whom I have yielded my place. And 
you have well deserved this interview. But, you know, 
when I am engaged I shall adopt the American system.” 

Paul went off radiant. Michel watched him with an 
indulgent look, which quickly saddened. He was vexed 
with Suzanne for having played this wretched farce, and 
also for having intended — in all probability —to go 
alone to a meeting which Paul should never have allowed 


” said 


270 APRIVS: LADY 


-her to give him. Then, above all, he could not forgive 
the young girl the moment of torture when, in spite of 
himself, he had remembered that she had once said wildly, 
cruelly : 

* I love another.” 

Suzanne had vaguely expected that Michel would join 
her at the Michauds’ and, on leaving their house, she felt 
somewhat disappointed. 

Was he perhaps following her without letting himself 
be seen? One could easily hide in the thick woods bor- 
dering the road, but even if her expected meeting with 
Paul Réault had not rendered it impossible, she would 
never have let little Louis Michaud go with her — that 
is, follow Michel’s advice. 

It was broad daylight, and the wood presented no for- 
bidding appearance on this beautiful afternoon in late 
September. Susy walked on leisurely. 

At last she reached the hunting lodge at the Stone- 
Cross. But the round hall with its brown walls was de- 
serted. 

Paul’s absence surprised Susy, for it was nearly five 
o’clock, but she patiently sat down to wait. She felt a 
little constraint at having to confess that she had not 
spoken to Michel, but she intended to explain her si- 
lence by wishing to know Paul’s view of America before 
commencing to discuss the subject either with Michel or 
Monsieur Daran. 

It was not, however, of Paul and Simone that Miss 
Severn thought most during this tiresome waiting at 
the Stone-Cross. The interview at Barbizon was 
haunting her. Occupied by the remembrance of Faus- 


APRIL'S LADY 271 


tine, Michel had not troubled himself about the return 
of his fiancée, nor her mysterious allusions. 

Still Paul did not arrive. An hour passed. The 
sun’s disc was no longer visible; a pale, quivering rosy 
light veiled the sky, touching the tops of the trees; day 
was closing. Suddenly seized with a sort of fear, Susy 
left the lodge; she had been foolish to linger so in the 
midst of the woods. It was imprudent. She hesitated ; 
then resolutely took a path at her left, which led down 
a rather steep slope. She knew that it ran diagonally 
across the wood to the widest road which extended 
through the forest and fields of Castelflore. 

Involuntarily, Suzanne thought of her first meeting 
with Michel; she remembered her fears, then the walk to 
Précroix in the darkness and silence. 

Since that time, a whole spring, a whole summer, had 
passed. And now it was Michel’s fiancée, the new fian- 
cée of the inconsolable knight, who was passing along the 
leafy paths. Yet she was alone. The name written in 
the chapel had not caused forgetfulness of the other, the 
one graven forever upon the tomb and in the heart of 
the dead warrior. If Michel had experienced any jeal- 
ousy he had quickly suppressed this impulse of his pride. 
And Susy felt ashamed of her little stratagem, so sadly 
futile. 

Yet, at times, she still wondered if Michel had not 
followed her. The crackling of the dry leaves some- 
times suggested a footstep. 

By degrees, the impression of a step mysteriously 
keeping pace with her own, took possession of Miss 
Severn. The person walking there was Michel; it could 


272 APRILS LADY 


be no one but Michel, she repeated to herself; yet to 
know that he might suddenly emerge from the darkness 
terrified the young girl. 

And if it were not Michel? If it were — someone 
else? 

Suzanne’s limbs froze; the blood hummed in her ears ; 
a wild desire to fly seized her. ‘Then she suddenly per- 
ceived, a few yards before her, the figure of a man and, 
almost at the same moment, recognised Michel. 

An intense feeling of relief, joy, delicious security, 
succeeded her fright so swiftly that her first impulse was 
to throw herself into his arms; but Michel’s attitude 
by no means encouraged this outburst of feeling, and 
Miss Severn paused before him, trying to assume a 
jaunty air, while in her throat and on her lashes were 
symptoms of a great desire to weep. 

‘IT am delighted to meet you, Michel; I did not know 
it would grow dark so soon —” 

A sarcastic smile curled Trémor’s lips. 

“Isn’t this the way you used to look when you had 
been reading ‘ Little Red Riding Hood’ ?” he said pit- 
ilessly. 

At this sally Suzanne was on the point of bursting - 
into tears, but she restrained herself. 

** You have come from the Michauds’? ” asked Michel. 

* And you? ” she retorted saucily. 

‘“* T have been to see Daran; I thought I told you so.” 

*‘T thought I told you, too, that I was going to the 
Michauds’.” 

** You stayed there a long time.” 

She was silent, wondering whether Michel had followed 


APRILS: LADY 273 


her, or whether he was really coming from Daran’s. 
This latter conjecture prevailed; for his manner was so 
indifferent and cold, that the fact of his coming would 
merely have indicated great concern about propriety. 

Michel did not even continue his questioning, but said 
simply: 

‘I suppose you are going back to Castelflore? ” 

* Yes, of course.” 

They began to walk along the narrow path, close to 
each other, and yet so far apart. By the uncertain 
light of the dying day, the trees were assuming their 
strange nocturnal forms. Seized with the almost morbid 
fear inspired by darkness in the quiet country, Suzanne 
passed her hand timidly under her companion’s arm. 

**T don’t feel quite easy,” she said. 

“When one has the terrors of a little girl,” replied 
the young man with more logic than amiability, “ it 
would be infinitely better not to wander alone at all sorts 
of hours in the woods.” 

Michel had followed Suzanne from the moment of her 
leaving the Michauds’, and appeared only at the moment 
when he perceived that fear was taking possession of 
her. He cherished the same resentment against his 
fiancée as when he left Paul, and besides, the clandestine 
walk he had had, not wishing to lose sight of the young 
girl nor give her the satisfaction of having gained her 
object, had put him in a very bad humour. But Susy, 
chilled by this coldness, felt in no mood for farther con- 
versation, and for a long time walked on without utter- 
ing a word. Yet, as the darkness gradually increased, 
she shivered and forgot her dignity. 


274 APRIL’S LADY 


“* Michel, what is that moving yonder? If we should 
have some unpleasant encounter? ” 

This time Trémor drew the hand that had sought his 
protection a little closer and, laughing with less marked 
irony, asked: 

With whom? ” 

* Why, I don’t know — some poacher.” 

“Really, why not? Then there are brigands in the 
woods, splendid plumed brigands who drag people into 
their caves. Have you read ‘ Ali-Baba’ ? ” 

** Yes,” she replied, trying to smile. 

**'You have nothing to fear while you are with me,” 
said the young man almost gently. 

As they reached the highroad, Miss Severn remem- 
bered that Michel was going away the next morning for 
two days. If she delayed speaking of Paul and Simone, 
she would risk having no opportunity to fulfil the mis- 
sion she had accepted. 

“ Michel,” she began bravely, “ I have something to 
tell you.” Then she related the romance of Paul, spoke 
of the letter she had received, but neglected to mention 
the appointment at the Stone-Cross. 

Michel listened with immovable coolness. When 
Susy reached the plan she had in mind, he told her that 
Daran had had the same idea. 

“ What good fortune!” cried the young girl with 
such charming joy that Trémor felt his resentment 
soften. ‘Then Michel, you will help these poor lovers, 
convince Jacques. I assure you that Paul is sincere, 
and Simone—” 

“I will do all that is possible, Suzanne,” he answered 


APRIL'S | LADY 275 


gravely. ‘I believe with you that Paul is sincere. He 
has been frivolous, idle, but nevertheless he is a good 
fellow, very loyal and honest. He is not rich, neither 
is Simone, but they love each other. ‘There would be 
great cruelty in separating two people who have the 
happiness of loving and understanding each other.” 

Repressed emotion thrilled in the young man’s voice; 
Suzanne wondered if he was thinking of Faustine. 

“J did not imagine you were so sentimental,” she 
said. 

*T shall see Jacques this evening,’’ observed Michel, » 
without noticing the remark. 

In the vestibule of Castelflore he stopped. 

** Good-bye.” 

Suzanne started. 

* Are not you coming in?” 

** No; I have barely time to go back to the tower of 
Saint-Sylvére. Daran is to dine with me.” 

** But you are going away with Robert to-morrow,” 
she objected faintly. 

* That is all arranged. We shall meet at the station 
at seven o’clock.” 

Miss Severn tried to find something to say; she could 
not let Michel leave her in this way. 

** You will write to me? ” she asked. “I should like 
to know the result of your interview with Monsieur 
Réault.” 

“ Certainly, I will send you a line before leaving. 
Good-bye.” 

He pressed her hand and made a movement of de- 
parture. 


276 APRIL’S LADY 


* Michel,” she murmured, “ don’t bid me good-bye un- 
kindly —” 

Instinctively she raised her forehead; her head almost 
touched his breast. Then he quickly pressed closely to 
him the trusting head, and bending, kissed her closed 
lids and left her without a word. 

It was so swift, so abrupt even that, after having felt 
happy, reassured, intoxicated with hope, Susy asked 
herself what she was to believe and if the caress had 
been tender, spontaneous, or merely obliging. She felt 
ashamed, ashamed of having begged a kiss which he had 
not intended to give. 


V 


Hg N the darkness of her closed room Miss Severn was 
weeping, and her tears were the tacit avowal of a love 
which she had long denied or combated. Had she been 
forced to put this secret confession into words, the terms 
would have been singular enough. ‘ Michel is unkind; 
he has no heart; I don’t know a more unbearable disposi- 
tion ; life with him is growing intolerable, but I love him 
with all my strength; I love him absurdly, with the ridic- 
ulous love of heroines in novels; in my eyes he is the best, 
the noblest, the most charming man in the world, and 
life is no longer possible for me without him.” 

It was the complete triumph of the vein of romance 
bequeathed by her grandmother. The most improbable 
plans agitated the little American’s mind. She resolved 
by turns, if Michel did not love her, to go back to Phila- 
delphia and teach French there, or to stay in France and 
turn nun. Already, in a childish dream, she saw her- 
self gliding like a shadow along the silent corridors of 
an old convent, where there would be a great many very 
fine sculptures, and a large garden full of roses. 

But one hope dispelled the mystic vision. Susy 
closed her eyes and felt Michel’s kiss upon their lids. It 
had been so gentle, so tender. Then everything 
changed ; — what if Comtesse Wronska was in Paris? 
If Michel was going to meet her? ‘Then she obtained 
relative peace by repeating to herself that if Michel 


loved Comtesse Wronska and knew that she was a 
Q77 


278 APRILS. LADY. 


widow he would certainly not have asked the hand of 
a young girl to whom nothing bound him. Who 
knows; perhaps on his return he would be more indul- 
gent; perhaps happiness was close at hand? 

The next morning, on awaking, she received the letter 
Michel had promised her. She scarcely dared to open 
the envelope. What did it contain? How would it be- 
gin? How would it end? It was the first one Miss 
Severn had had from Trémor since his return from Nor- 
way. At last she opened, read it, and with a heavy sigh, 
returned the little card to the envelope. 


“ My Dear Susy: 

“*T saw Daran, Paul, and Jacques yesterday. All is 
going well. The romance of our lovers will end, I hope, 
like many romances. 


** Hastily yours, 
** MiIcHEL.” 


How short and commonplace it was! Suzanne did 
not even ask herself if Paul had spoken to Michel of the 
meeting at the Stone-Cross. She thought only of the 
vanity of her own dreams. 

**T am glad for those poor children,” yet she con- 
cluded. 

That day Colette, who thought little Zanne looked 
pale, took her for a drive, but the next afternoon, the 
children having begged her not to leave them, the young 
girl seized this pretext for not accompanying her cousin . 
to Chesnaie and Précroix. 


She played a game of croquet with Georges, Nysette, 


APRIL'S LADY. 279 


and Claude Béthune, then went to sit down on the bank of 
the river, where the student soon joined her. They be- 
gan to talk as they used to do at Cannes, and Miss Severn 
allowed herself to be diverted by her little friend’s chat- 
ter: 

From time to time a burst of laughter echoed under 
the sycamores and Claude thought he had again found 
the chum Susy whose frank manners had charmed him. 

“If you knew, Susy,” he cried, “ how extraordinary 
it seems to think that in a few weeks you will be Ma- 
dame Trémor! ” 

Miss Severn started, recalled to reality, not this inter- 
mediate reality, filled with sorrowful forebodings and 
gloomy ideas, but a more merciful one. Claude told the 
truth: in a few weeks she would be Michel’s wife. Noth- 
ing was destroyed. In a few weeks, she would be called 
Madame Trémor, Madame Michel Trémor, Suzanne Tré- 
mor. ‘The words sounded sweet. 

“Why does that appear extraordinary to you, 
Claude? ” she asked, smiling. 

“ Well, in the first place, because I did not suppose 
Michel would marry at all— and then because I had 
still less idea of his marrying you.” 

* But why?” 

*T don’t know. Because he did not trouble himself 
at all about young girls; because he led a Wandering 
Jew life; because he is horribly serious and even a little 
tiresome —” 

* Uncivil! ” 

“ Uncivil, how? ” 


** Uncivil to me because you do not consider me worthy 


280 ALPRLES LADY 


to marry a serious man, in the first place; and secondly, 
uncivil to Michel.” 

‘** Has he never bored you? ” questioned Claude, with 
interest. 

73 Why, no.”? 

“* Never, never? ” 

* Never.” 

“That is astonishing. But at least do not think I 
don’t like him,” the youth went on eagerly; ‘on the 
contrary, I adore him, you know. Only it seemed as if, 
for you and me —” 

“Don’t put me in the same budget with yourself, if 
you please.” 

“As if, for you and me, he was not sufficiently — 
foolish.” 

* Better and better,” retorted Suzanne, laughing 
heartily. ‘‘ Well, then, my dear friend, neither a dandy 
like Raymond Desplans, nor a giddy fellow like Paul 
Réault could have pleased me. I am a goose, possibly, 
but for that very reason I must have a philosopher to 
charm me; an ignoramus, and so I wanted a scholarly 
husband; a stupid little person who is capable of talk- 
ing nonsense with a big booby like you, so I needed a 
husband who would scold me well, and be my master.” 

“Ah! you had a good scent,” Claude answered. “ He 
is a scholar. And he will be master; have no fear of 
that.” 

He looked at the young girl again, then shouting with 
laughter: . 

“What you love in him is amazing.” 

Suzanne turned as red as a poppy, and gave Claude’s 


APRIC'S LADY 281 


hand a good hard slap, but this De did not disturb 
the future graduate. 

** And he, why he should adore you! But to be sure, 
that isn’t astonishing, on the contrary.” 

*< Master Claude,” said Suzanne, laughing in spite of 
herself, “ you are horribly indiscreet, do me the favor 
to keep silent.” 

“IT hope,” Claude went on, “ that he will sacrifice his 
old papers to you, that he will say tender nothings to 
you, that he will look at you all the time — and that he 
will administer jealous scenes to you in big doses, which 
— oh! dear, how I would like to see you together! ” 

** Claude!” cried the young girl, “if you keep on 
being so curious, I am going away.” 

**'To take my paternal solicitude for curiosity,” cried 
Claude, raising his arms to heaven with so comical a 
grimace that Susy laughed again. 

* Then it has been a thunderbolt? ” 

“You are wearying me.” 

** In the first place, you know, I thought it was a pru- 
dential marriage, at least on your side, but just now 
— Ah! I did not even need to hear you speak of 
Michel; I only had to utter his name and you turned 
perfectly red. Then! — 

“ That is false; I did not turn red at hearing his 
name; you may suppose that I hear it often enough for 
it not to surprise me — admitting that the name should 
make me blush, if it did surprise me.” 

* Pooh! pooh! pooh! you were red to the roots of 
your hair, even your ears were red,” 

* Claude, let me alone.” 


282 APRESS “LADY: 


But the love of teasing fairly intoxicated Claude. 

“You are an ungrateful creature,” he declared ; * you 
don’t know what you owe me.” 

66 You? 39 

“Yes, me.” 

It is certain that Susy little suspected the problem 
that had more than once beset Claude in the course of 
his vacation and, since his arrival at Précroix had lit- 
erally haunted his giddy brain. Had Miss Severn really 
received that First of April letter? Had it really been 
taken seriously, or by some strange chance, had it come 
with another letter from Michel? In a word, was it 
really Claude who had made the marriage of his friend 
Susy with the lord of Saint-Sylvére? The story seemed 
to him at once so charming and so ridiculous, that he 
would have sacrificed any pleasure to know that, while 
appearing so improbable, the amazing affair was 
true— But, if it were true, could Susy be ignorant of 
it? 

Claude had racked his brains, and often a question had 
risen to his lips which he had not dared to ask. Now, 
in the heat of the skirmish, he no longer reasoned. 

He gravely drew from his pocket a paper and, pre- 
tending to read, began to recite the commencement of the 
letter he had written to Suzanne; a commencement which 
had cost him more labour than many Greek and Latin 
texts and was engraved upon his memory. Susy in- 
stantly listened. 

** Where did you find that?” she cried, snatching the 
paper from Claude’s hands. 


APRESS EADY 283 


Then she looked at it and saw only a circular for pho- 
tographic supplies. 

** What does this mean, Claude?” she questioned. 

Claude had started — it would have needed a very 
clever person to stop him. 

** It means, Mademoiselle Susy, that it was not Michel 
who asked your hand in marriage; it was I.” 

She was enquiring with her eyes, no longer able to 
find words, trying to laugh. 

“Madame Fauvel wanted her brother to marry you, 
and I knew it, and I also knew, having heard it a hun- 
dred times, that Michel did not want to marry. 
The 30th of March, papa and I —the others were at 
Précroix — as we were leaving the Comédie Francaise, 
met Michel. I told him I was making an April Fool for 
the tutor, and suddenly the thought popped into my 
head, ‘ Come, he would be a good one to do!’ I had 
just received your letter, the one in which you told me 
about the adventure in the Green Sepulchre. So the 
next morning I wrote one — in the Saint-Sylvére style — 
taking good care to put inside the envelope in big letters: 
‘April Fool!’ Yet all the same, after it was mailed, I 
was seized with remorse and fear. What if Susy should 
not see the words written in the envelope and — and — 
what if I had made a big blunder! You can imagine 
what a dressing I should have had from papa! For three 
nights I never slept a wink. Then one fine day I heard 
that Miss Severn and Monsieur Trémor were engaged 
and everybody was pleased, etc., etc. I wondered if my 
letter had come at the same time as another, a real offer. 


284 APRS: “LADY. 


Only I did not want to speak of the matter to anybody, 
not even Michel. But, come now, since it was really my 
letter that caused your engagement, did not Michel tell 
you so? ” 

The human will, above all, the feminine will, is very 
strong in certain decisive hours; yet perhaps Susy’s ex- 
aggerated calmness might not have deceived a keener 
observer than Claude. 

“I knew the story of that letter, Claude,” she replied, 
in a tone that was almost imperceptibly altered; “ but I 
did not know that you were the author of this amiable 
jest. Allow me to compliment you; it was in most ex- 
quisite taste.” 

At that moment Claude thought he might have com- 
mitted a second blunder, but it was scarcely more than 
a flash of common sense. 

* Come, Susy,” he said, “ you are not vexed. Do 
you know what I have said to myself more than once? 
With his disposition, Michel would have worshipped 
Miss Severn for months, and even years, without daring 
to confess it, while, thanks to my letter— Ah! my letter 
didn’t take long to decide him.” 

Susy remained silent. Claude began to have fears. 

* You won’t tell anybody about it, will you?” he 
entreated. “If my parents knew even now —” . 

“TI will not mention it, Claude,” said Suzanne, again 
recovering her speech; “ but have you considered — it 
is a sort of forgery that you committed and you see 
how — how serious all this might have been.” 

She was now speaking with visible effort. Claude 
seized her hands, 


APRIL'S: LADY, 285 


“Suzanne, I have hurt you,” he said with sincere 
sorrow. ‘I was an idiot to tell you this.” 

She shook her head. 

“No, no; it is much better.” Then recovering her- 
self, she added: 

** Since I knew it, since I was ignorant only of the 
name of the bad joker,” she continued, succeeding in 
summoning a smile. 

“Then you are not angry with me? ” 

“ Why, no, not at all — only I had to scold you, that 
you might not do such a thing again.” 

* But why, if Michel knew —” 

Suzanne shook her finger at him in friendly menace. 

“Ah! Master Claude,” she said, “here are whys 
enough. Don’t exaggerate your paternal rights. 
You did not make my engagement; you only hastened it 
a few days.” 

Miss Severn had risen and was going back to the 
chateau. Oh! that horrible little Claude! The un- 
conscious monster ! 

An automatic mowing machine on the lawn changed 
the course of the youth’s ideas; he talked of other things 
and stopped at the entrance. 

“TI must go back to Précroix,” he said; “ Emile and 
René Pontmaury are coming with two other fellows. 
Would you go with me?” 

** No, thank you; I am tired.” 

* You forgive me? ” 

Suzanne shrugged her shoulders with a little laugh. 

“ What a simpleton you are! I was not thinking of 
t” 


286 APRIE:S “EADY 


But when she was alone in her own room, she sank 
on the sofa, burying her head in the cushions, utterly 
crushed. 

She could not succeed in reaching any clear idea of 
what had happened six months before, but what. did 
become plain was that Michel’s choice had not been 
free; that she, she — oh! what shame — had accepted a 
man who had not thought of offering himself to her, 
that she had written first to this man, had imposed herself 
upon him. Now she could explain Michel’s delays, his 
strange, hesitating manner during their conversation 
at Précroix. But then — Comtesse Wronska? 

The collapse was complete. All the good reasons 
Suzanne had given herself to prove that she was really 
the chosen bride, ceased to be valid. No,doubt the little 
cousin had unconsciously prevented the reconciliation 
desired by Faustine and also by Michel; no doubt, at 
certain times, especially since he had again seen the 
beautiful comtesse, Michel detested the fiancée whom he 
had not chosen, execrated Claude, and desired a breach. 

At this thought, Suzanne for a moment was actually 
crazed. She would fly; she would not have Colette find 
her that evening — or Michel the next day — still at 
Castelflore. ' 

Hastily throwing a quantity of all sorts of articles 
into a bag which closed as if by miracle, she rang for 
Colette’s maid, and using for a pretext a letter she had 
found in her room when she went to it, she said that she 
was summoned immediately to Paris, and would take the 
next train without waiting for Madame Fauyvel’s re- 
turn. 


APRIL’S LADY 287 


“Tell Madame,” she added, “ that I beg her to ex- 
cuse me, and that I will write. I am taking only what is 
absolutely necessary.” 

“Has Mademoiselle received bad news?” asked the 
maid. 

“Not exactly, but the person who wants me is a very 
old friend, and I cannot defer my departure.” 

As a carriage went every day to the station at five 
o’clock for the provisions that came from Paris, Suzanne 
availed herself of it. 

A feverish energy supported her. Now with a long- 
ing for hope, she told herself that perhaps all was not 
lost. No; she did not believe that Michel had ever de- 
tested or cursed her. Sometimes she had imagined her- 
self beloved, and the facts remained the same. Yet how 
stern, cruel, above all, indifferent he had been, since the 
day the letter from Barbizon had come, since he had 
again seen Comtesse Wronska! 

Suzanne did not weep; her eyes were dry and burn- 
ing; the sobs stopped in her throat and stifled her. 
Her head ached violently. 

An accident might have caused Michel to arrive at 
five o’clock; then poor little Zanne would have flung 
herself into his arms, saying wildly: 

“ Comfort me; take me away; tell me that nothing is 
true, that I have been dreaming, that you do love me, 
that I have nothing to fear near you—that we will 
never part again! ” 

But Michel had not taken the train, and Suzanne, 
obeying her first impulse, went to seek the hospitality 
of Mademoiselle Gémier, who was keeping a modest 


288 — APRIL'S. LADY 


boarding school for young girls in the Rue-Saints- 
Péres. 

Before going to Madame Béthune’s, Suzanne had 
spent several days with her former governess; she had 
been there when she went alone to Paris; there were a 
hundred reasons why they would think of seeking her 
there — and, besides, had she not told the maid that she 
was answering the summons of an old friend? They 
would understand. 

Meanwhile she had decided not to write; Michel would 
return to Rivailler the next morning; if, uneasy at this 
sudden departure, he should go to Mademoiselle 
Gémier’s, Suzanne might believe herself beloved and 
would tell him all; if, on the contrary, he quietly waited 
for the letter to Colette — Oh! then all would be ended! 
And Suzanne would write. What? She did not yet 
know. She only knew that the letter would be the final 
breach more or less desired by Michel. The idea of 
being wedded through duty or compulsion terrified Aunt 
Régine’s granddaughter; now that she loved, she wished 
to be loved. 

Oh! if Michel would only come; if, as before, he 
scolded little Zanne; if he made her weep as he did the 
morning after the ball at Chesnaie, and then — after be- 
ing very unkind, very angry, very jealous — he should 
kneel again, as he had done that day. What joy, Oh! 
what joy that would be! 

Suzanne was very pale, her head ached. 

After dinner, pleading great fatigue to escape the 
questions and caresses of Mademoiselle Gémier, she re- 
tired early. When she had mechanically undressed and 


APRIL'S: LADY 289 


gone to bed in the little room, so dreary in spite of its 
flowered curtains, she could at last weep and reason. 
At this hour she was beginning dimly to comprehend 
that her departure had been a foolish act. But the 
evil was done, and Suzanne resolved to go to the end 
of the path she had entered, however imprudently. 

So she buried her head in the pillows, trembling lest, 
in the next room, her sobs might be heard. 

“Oh, Michel,” she faltered, very softly, longing to 
speak, to tell her distress to him who, perhaps even in 
thought, was so far away from her —“ my Michel, my 
fiancé, my husband; I am in such grief.” 


VI 
Cotetre had the maid repeat twice Suzanne’s 


brief explanations. 

** Miss Severn will write when she arrives? ” 

“Yes, Madame.” 

** You are sure that she did not tell you why she was 
called to Paris, or at least give the name of the person 
who called her? ” 

“* Miss Severn only said: a very old friend.” 

“Tt is Mademoiselle Gémier. That’s just like Su- 
zanne,” Colette concluded. 

Then, left alone with Nysette, she sat down in a 
corner of the little drawing-room and sighed heavily. 

Long ago, more quickly than Michel, she had ac- 
cepted Suzanne’s eccentricities. Even at this moment, | 
she was not uneasy, but she confessed that she was vexed, 
irritated by this new freak of her cousin. Castelflore 
with neither Robert, Michel, or Suzanne would lose its 
charm. Colette was angry with Mademoiselle Gémier 
for having taken away her little Zanne — and for what 
whim, Heaven only knew. She was vexed with Suzanne 
for having gone without any one’s advice. She was 
vexed with herself for feeling so weary, so unoccupied, 
so dull in her solitude. 

Again Madame Fauvel sighed and this time the sigh — 
resembled a yawn. Nysette wanted some “ grown 
person” to play with her. The “ grown person” 


present answered rather sharply, which seemed so sur- 
290 


APRIL'S -LADY 291 


prising from those ever-smiling lips that the little girl 
did not persist, but with an air of offended dignity, 
went to look out of the window. 

Impetuously clapping her hands, she turned to her 
mother: 

“ Here’s Tonti! Here’s Tonti!” 

Madame Fauvel shrugged her shoulders. 

‘Why no, simpleton, that isn’t Tonti. Tonti is in 
Paris.” 

“It is Tonti!” Nysette insisted; “he is coming up 
the avenue with a gentleman I know.” 

This time Colette rose. It was really Michel. A 
few minutes later he entered the little drawing-room, 
followed by Albert Daran. 

“Did not Robert come back with you?” asked 
Madame Fauvel with a slight tinge of anxiety, as she 
went to meet her brother. 

* Robert will not return for two or three days; he has 
found more business than he expected,” replied Trémor. 

Reassured, and already delighted by this diversion 
which had come in the midst of an attack of boredom, 
she held out her hand to Daran, made him sit down, 
and instantly asked a multitude of questions, hardly 
waiting for the answers. Michel had also taken a seat, 
but remained silent. The maid had carried off Nysette, 
not without tears and resistance, but contrary to his 
custom, the young man had paid no attention to the 
noisy disappointment of his little niece. He let his 
sister talk with Daran a moment, then very quickly, 
with an emotion that betrayed itself slightly by a little 
contraction of the lips, he asked: 


292 APRIIZS: LADY. 


** Does Suzanne know that I am here? ” 

‘ Suzanne?” said Colette, recalled to her anger; 
“oh, don’t let us talk of Suzanne. She is in Paris, my 
dear brother.” 

‘What, in Paris? ” repeated Michel almost sternly. 

“Yes, in Paris. She is simply crazy,’’ replied Colette. 

Ana, half laughing, she explained, commenting 
copiously as she spoke. Michel listened, frowning. 

** She went while you were at Précroix, without wait- 
ing for you, without leaving a message? ” 

“She did not have time to leave a message. But, 
really, it seems to me that Mademoiselle Gémier might 
have waited until to-morrow.” 

At first Michel did not answer, then suddenly seizing 
his sister’s wrist, he said in a changed voice: 

** Colette, you knew nothing, neither she, nor you, 
did you? She, especially, she did not know? ” 

Actual bewilderment stiffened Madame Fauvel’s 
features. 

‘** What is it? ” she asked in a stifled tone. 

Michel was breathing with difficulty, his hand pressed 
upon his aching forehead. 

“* My poor little sister,” he said, “ misfortunes often 
come very quickly. The Metropolitan Bank has failed, 
and as all or nearly all my fortune —” 

With a cry, Colette had thrown herself into the young 
man’s arms. 

** Oh! my poor darling brother! ” 

Michel silently clasped her, happy to find her, at 
least, faithful, loving, and so agitated, so distressed 


APRILGS> LAD y. 293 


by his trouble. He kissed her several times with great 
tenderness, then with his cheek pressed against Colette’s 
brow, he murmured: 

“You don’t think she knew it, tell me? No one 
could have told her. That is not the reason she has 
gone?” 

Colette started. 

“Suzanne? Why, my poor Michel, you are dream- 
ing. How could she have learned what I did not know 
myself? ” 

* The Béthunes? ” 

“The Béthunes, certainly not. Béthune is away and 
May never keeps up with the news. Besides, Susy has 
seen no one either to-day or yesterday.” 

** And the papers? Remember that this is a catastro- 
phe to others as well as to me. Last evening’s papers 
were full of it.” 

* Nonsense! Suzanne hardly knew that your money 
was in the Metropolitan Bank — and as for the papers, 
we have not read them. I am sure of it. I have not 
left her to-day, except to go to Précroix and — 
there,” said Colette, whose eyes had chanced to fall upon 
the little table where lay a pile of newspapers still in 
their wrappers, “ look at the papers!” 

* And then,” Michel went on, “even if she had 
learned anything, she would not have gone away — 
she would have waited for me — you think so, too, don’t 
you?” 

_ “Certainly, she would have waited for you — 
unless she had started to join you.” 


294 ARRIETA LADY 


Trémor shook his head; not the faintest glimmer of 
hope brightened his eyes. 

* Oh! no!” he said. 

Colette reflected. 

“You are right; if she had had the least suspicion 
of the truth, she would have waited to see me, to talk 
with me; no, she knew nothing.” 

Trémor hid his face in his sister’s hair. 

“Oh! my darling, my darling,” he said, “‘ encourage 
me —tell me again that you believe she would have 
waited for me, that you are sure of it.” 

‘* Why, yes, my poor dear Michel; yes, I am sure of 
it; Suzanne would have stayed. In the fear of missing 
you, she would have waited for you, and she would have 
told me all. She loves you, I know, and —” 

** Has she told you so?” 

Colette seemed bewildered. 

** No, but I have seen it plainly.” 

Michel laughed sorrowfully. 

“ Ah! You have seen it; you are very fortunate.” 

He released himself from Madame Fauvel’s embrace, 
and went back to the seat he had occupied the instant 
before. 

Colette seemed discouraged. 

*‘ Did no one suspect anything? ” she asked. 

“ No one,” replied Trémor; “ you remember the other 
evening your husband was talking with me about the 
Metropolitan Bank, he had learned that there were un- 
pleasant rumours in circulation. But it was all so 
vague and improbable that I attached no great im- 
portance to it. Besides, Maitre Allinges, whom I saw 


APRIL’S LADY 295 


on arriving in Paris, thought it a press sensation. 
Then, the evening of day before yesterday, the news was 
suddenly spread of the suicide of Moreau-Fromont, the 
manager of the Metropolitan Bank. And the next day, 
the disaster was known. Poor devils who thought they 
had invested their fortune wisely, like myself, found 
themselves ruined in a single day.” 

* But what has happened? ” 

Michel seemed tired out; Daran answered for him. 

 Moreau-Fromont, with two of the directors, dis- 
regarding the by-laws, had involved the bank in a 
colossal buying up of something to create a monopoly. 
No one suspected it. But proceedings had been com- 
menced against the syndicate which was at the head of 
the affair. Then Moreau-Fromont saw that all was 
lost, and shot himself, the wretch— which does not 
make up for what has happened, alas! ” 

Colette, bewildered by these explanations, which she 
only half understood, asked: 

“Ts the disaster complete; is all Michel’s money swal- 
lowed up in it?” 

‘We must wait for the settlement, Madame,” replied 
Daran; “but I do not believe that it could give very 
satisfying results.” 

Trémor shrugged his shoulders. 

“JT am among the fortunate ones,” he said, “ since, 
thanks to my house in the Rue des Belles-Feuilles, I have 
enough to ensure me a living and can enter some busi- 
ness. Ah! Heaven, if it were only myself!” 

He interrupted himself, returning to the same tortur- 
ing idea. 


296 APRIL?S LADY 


“‘T wanted to tell her what has happened, to reassure 
her concerning the future, to say that I would work, that 
— and she must leave in this way!” 

He spoke with ill-repressed anger. 

“Come, brother dear,” replied Colette, with a little 
reproach in her affectionate voice, “ you must be fair. 
Suzanne could not divine that you would come and why. 
Do you believe that —” 

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” he interrupted, as if 
dreading what Colette might say. ‘The fact of not 
finding her here, when I am sad, unfortunate, has de- 
pressed me. Oh! I would give ten, twenty years of my 
life to be sure that she knew nothing.” 

* But, my child,” said Colette, with a maternal air, 
** you can easily discover. Mademoiselle Gémier lives 
at 35 Rue des Saints-Péres. Go and see Suzanne to- 
morrow.” 

“Oh; no,” replied Michel harshly ; “ not on any ac- 
count. She said that she would write to you when she 
arrived, didn’t she? We will see if she does. I wish 
her to feel free, absolutely free, and — admitting that 
she finds herself confronted with a decision to be made 
— under no outside influence, not even that of my af- 
fection and my grief. If she does not write, well — 
then I will consider.” 

* But,” suggested Madame Fauvel, “ if I should write 
to her, just a line, a little commonplace note —” 

With a nervous, abrupt movement, he seized his 
sister’s hands. 

“* Listen, Colette,” in the broken voice he had used at 


APRIGIS: LADY 297 


times since he came into the little room, “ you must 
promise that you will not try to seek Suzanne, that you 
will not write to her, that you will not tell Robert to 
go to her, that you will do nothing, nothing, until she 
has given some sign of life, she— I depend upon it, 
you see, I insist upon it. If you disobey me, I—I 
should never forgive you. I have serious reasons for 
speaking in this way.” 

“IT promise, my dear brother,’’ answered Madame 
* Fauvel sadly, “ you know better than I, and yet —” 

He looked at her intently. 

**It is a promise.” 

“* Besides, perhaps she will write,” Trémor went on. 
** As soon as you receive her letter, you will wire me, 
won't you? For then, you understand, I shall go to 
see her.” 

He interrupted himself, and added gently: 

* But, my poor little Colette, I am thinking only of 
myself. You had something in the Metropolitan Bank, 
too,— about twenty thousand frances.” 

Colette made a little gesture of indifference. She 
had never estimated the cost of the luxury which was as 
necessary to her as the air she breathed, and with which 
her uncle and her husband had surrounded her. Yet 
she said: 

“Ts Robert much troubled? ” 

* He is troubled, certainly; it is always very annoy- 
ing to lose a considerable sum, but he thought only of 
me. He has been the best, the most affectionate of 
brothers to me, Colette. I shall never forget it. He 


298 APRIL S: sCADY 


and Daran have been a genuine support. And I greatly 
needed them; at the first moment, these blows are some- 
what hard to bear.” 

He had risen, instantly followed by Albert. 

“ Are you going,” cried Colette quickly. 

He made a gesture of assent. 

"7Ro. Parish’ 

“To-morrow morning’, yes, but I wanted to see you, 
Suzanne and you. Now I will go back to Saint-Sylvére, 
where I have some papers to look up.” 

“ Are you going to dine alone? ” she persisted. 

*Daran will dine and go back with me to-morrow.” 

*¢ And Robert will not return for three days? ” 

“In three days, probably — yes — good-bye for the 
present, my darling sister.” 

He took her in his arms and kissed her, saying: 

“Think of your poor brother,” then clasping her 
closer, he added: 

“ You will telegraph me at once, Rue Beaujon, won’t 
your At once?” 

Colette began to weep. 

“Oh! I beseech you, Michel,” she entreated, “ stay 
and dine at Castelflore, Monsieur Daran and you. I 
feel so sad, so lonely. You can go directly after, if 
you wish.” | 

Michel yielded and Madame Fauvel certainly could 
not imagine the extent of the sacrifice he was making 
in remaining longer at Castelflore where everything 
rendered, if possible, more tangible, Suzanne’s absence, 
and his own disappointment and fears. 

When he learned the financial disaster in which the 


APRITL?S: “LADY 299 


greater portion of his fortune was sunk, his first thought 
had been of Miss Severn, and he had left Paris almost 
immediately. A terrible anguish was gnawing his 
heart. It would have been so comforting, so sweet to 
find her there, to hear a cheering tender word in her voice, 
one of those words which women invent for those who 
suffer, when they love them; to have on his brow a 
caress from her lips or her hand; to feel her his own, 
to intoxicate himself a moment with the assurance that 
he would be strong to struggle, because he would not be 
alone. : 

It was much to expect, much to ask—too much 
perhaps — Michel knew it. While the train was roll- 
ing toward Rivailler, his poor brain had wearied itself 
in going over the selfsame facts and conjectures which 
had haunted it for two days. 

Suzanne was young; she loved luxury, the ample, 
easy existence which fortune bestows. It would be 
necessary first to reassure her. Trémor had promised 
himself to be tender, to let his heart speak for the first 
time. He was intoxicated with the hope that he might 
induce the young girl to face the prospect of a more 
quiet life. He had remembered the brow, the eyes so 
artlessly lifted to his lips in the hour of parting; he 
fancied he again heard the timid voice which had 
stammered : 

** Don’t bid me good-bye unkindly.” 

The next instant he had roused himself from this 
reverie. He had thought that his arguments would 
doubtless remain vain, and his tenderness powerless, in 
the presence of Suzanne’s regrets, and then he would 


300 APR SLA DY. 


be compelled to say: “ I am no longer the rich man to 
whom you were engaged. Since you do not love me, 
you are free.” 

She had gone, voluntarily, mysteriously ; she had gone 
without saying anything. There were instants when 
Michel fancied he was in some fevered dream. Then 
he was obliged to repeat to himself: 

‘It is you, you who are suffering. Weep, cry out; 
it is you who are unhappy. Yesterday you were reck- 
oned among the privileged persons in the world. ‘The 
woman you love was your fiancée; you could offer her 
the luxurious life that suits you both; you dreamed of 
being loved as much as you yourself love. And to-day, 
everything is crumbling around you. This fiancée, the 
exquisite child you worship, has gone; she deserts you.” 

Then he reproached himself for his doubts. Su- 
zanne was ignorant of everything. She had gone be- 
cause — because— He did not know, ideas mingled, 
whirled through his brain. 

When, with his friend, he reached the gate of the 
little park, nine o’clock had just struck from the church 
of Rivailler. Daran, reading an entreaty in Michel’s 
eyes, once more crossed the threshold of the tower of 
Saint-Sylvére and both went to the study, where the 
White Lady smiled amid the verdure of the tapestry, 
where the spinning-wheel awaited a woman’s hand to 
make it hum while the worms were gnawing their dark 
pathway through the ancient furniture. 

From Castelflore to the tower of Saint-Sylvére 
Michel had scarcely uttered a dozen words; now he sat 
down, exhausted, very pale, and still silent, At first 


APRIL’S LADY 301 


Albert had avoided disturbing the thoughts behind the 
brow whose lines of grief he divined in the dusk, but 
this persistent dumbness began to alarm him.” 

“My poor dear fellow,” he said suddenly, “ you are 
inventing more troubles than you have; you are tortur- 
ing yourself before you even know anything positively.” 

And as Michel did not seem to have heard him, he 
suddenly clasped both his hands with affectionate 
abruptness, adding: 

“Come, be frank with me; what is it you believe; 
what is it that you actually fear? Tell me all.” 

*T believe that —” 

Trémor stopped then, in a low tone: 

“Tam a wretch, I am enraged with myself for it, 
but I cannot drive from my mind this abominable thing: 
it is that Suzanne has heard of my ruin, that she did 
not feel courage to share with me a hard, or ordinary 
life, and fearing my grief and Colette’s reproaches 
when she confessed all, she has gone away, with the in- 
tention of avoiding a painful explanation by writing. 
My poor little Suzanne! You see that I am unworthy 
of her, since I can think that, and believe it to the degree 
of being as miserable as I am.” 

_“T really do not understand by what right you con- 
jure up such suppositions,” said Daran. ‘“ Miss Severn, 
you admit, could only be very imperfectly informed 
concerning the disposal of your fortune; that is the 
first point. Here is the second: from what Madame 
Fauvel has told us, there are excellent reasons why this 
poor child should have been ignorant, like your sister, 
of the crash of the Metropolitan Bank, and finally —” 


302 APRIk’S: LADY 


“But do you think that story of Mademoiselle 
Gémier plausible; come, do you think it natural that 
Suzanne should run off in an hour, without waiting for 
Colette, without writing a word?” 

“JT don’t think it is natural, but that is no reason 
that it may not be true and easy to explain. Then, 
admitting that Miss Severn did not go in reply to a 
letter from Mademoiselle Gémier, nothing proves that 
she went to avoid seeing you.” 

“Why did she go, then, why? What do you sup- 

pose? Speak —” 
_ “T don’t suppose —I confess that I don’t know any 
more than you do why she thought fit to absent her- 
self. Only I have often noticed that things we con- 
sider incomprehensible almost always end by explain- 
ing themselves. I have also noticed that there are many 
strange misunderstandings — especially between people 
who love each other.” 

** Suzanne does not love me.” 

“How do you know? Have you ever asked her? ” 

**T know that she does not love me.” 

** And she, does she know that you love her? ” 

Michel shook his head, smiling sadly: 

** T have never told her so; just think of it.” 

* That is no reason.” 

* Ah! you don’t know me,” cried the young man 
bitterly. ‘What have I done to be loved by her? I 
have been sullen, unkind, cruel; I have disturbed, poi- 
soned all her pleasures ; I have been cold, stern —” 

** Yes, all this does not prove much,” replied Albert 
philosophically. “ But, however that may be, believe 


APRIV SLA DY 303 


me, it is wrong to be in such haste to accuse a young 
girl who is your fiancée, to judge her disloyal —” 

“TI do not think her disloyal,’ Michel corrected, very 
gloomily ; “no, I do not feel that I have any right to 
reproach her for her desertion. When we were engaged, 
she was extraordinarily frank. She was not a woman 
to marry the first person who was introduced to her, 
but she had a horror of poverty; she intended to wed 
only a man who was relatively rich — and she told me 
without periphrases. I am no longer rich.” 

“You are not poor. You have your house in the 
Rue des Belles-Feuilles, about thirty thousand francs 
in stocks of the Colonizer, the tower of Saint- 
Sylvére, and a tolerably large property in pictures and 
works of art. It will be strange if, even without reck- 
oning what the liquidation of the Parisian bank will 
produce, all this will not give you at least twelve or 
fifteen thousand francs income. You will make on an 
average half as much again by your work — yes, yes. 
And if, between now and then, you need a sum, even a 
large sum, you know very well that —” 

The worthy Daran stopped, too much agitated to 
continue ; then he held out his hand to Michel, saying in 
a lower tone: 

“ You knew very well that you would find it, eh? ” 

Michel pressed the faithful hand. 

* Yes, my friend,” he said; “ I do know; I have never 
doubted it.” 

He was silent, then went on more calmly: 

** When first hearing of the crash of the Metropolitan 
Bank, I was overwhelmed, but now — ah! I assure you 


304 ALKIES. LADY 


that I would feel capable of regaining courage, even of 
being happy, if — if she loved me.” 

“Do you remember,” replied Daran, “ that one day 
I laughingly told you the happiness I wished you: fifty 
thousand pounds less income, and the love of a woman 
who was worthy of you— $into the bargain. I did 
not suppose, alas! that I was speaking as a prophet, 
but why should I not have been one halfway? After- 
ward we talked for a very long time about Miss Severn.” 

“Oh! I remember.— ‘The fiancée whom a combina- 
tion of events imposed upon me was indifferent to me. 
I don’t know how, but everything has changed. I 
believe that at first I loved her because she is kind — 
so delicately, so humanely kind that I was ashamed of 
my dull selfishness to so much suffering ; then I loved her 
because her fresh beauty, her young, artless grace, have 
conquered, charmed me. I loved her because — I do not 
know. I loved her so much that I loved even her coquet- 
tish airs and the childishness that irritated me, her ab- 
surd little accent which nothing will correct, her pro- 
nunciation of certain words which she persists in, as if 
doing it on purpose —” 

In the suffering of this hour, Michel let his secret 
escape. Before Daran could answer, he continued: 
_  T ought to have told her that I loved her —I have 

not done so. In the first place, I scarcely admitted it 
to myself; it was only when I believed I was losing her, 
that I really understood—then you know, I am dif- 
fident, and it seemed as if I was so far from being a man 
to please her. I was afraid. So long as I had not 
spoken to her, I could believe that she loved me, or would 


APRIL'S “LADY 305 


love me;I could hope. And if she had laughed! No, I 
had not the courage to tell her what I was feeling; one 
cruel word would have tortured me. I kept silence, and 
I was jealous, unkind; I took pleasure in vexing her, 
while torturing myself. Then when her eyes filled with 
tears when, in short, she suffered, wounded in her 
woman’s pride, I suffered still more. I felt a mad long- 
ing to clasp her in my arms and beg her forgiveness, 
but I dared not, and the mischief was done; I was 
wretched enough to kill myself, and I —” 

Emotion choked him; he was silent, burying his fore- 
head in his hands. 

** And do you believe,” said Daran, “ that you could 
have loved thus, suffered thus, without having this poor 
child whom you slander see anything, understand any- 
thing? Do you suppose that there has. never been any- 
thing in your eyes, your voice; yes, even in the midst 
of your anger, which did not cry out your love and your 
suffering? Come, come! And, as for supposing that 
Miss Severn made the calculation of which you speak —” 

** She did not love me.” 

‘She did not love you when you were engaged, of 
course! Neither did you love her. Besides, that is 
not the best of my reasons. I know Miss Severn very 
slightly ; I have talked with her only two or three times. 
. . « Well, what do you want me to tell you? It 
was sufficient for me to see her fifteen minutes, to meet 
her beautiful, frank eyes, to be certain to-day that, if 
she had wished to break her engagement with you, she 
would have told you so face to face, openly, as she told 
you that she was marrying you without loving you. 


306 APRILS LADY 


If I were you, I should return to Paris to-morrow. I 
should go to Mademoiselle Gémier’s house, and I should 
tell my fiancée all, first my love, then —” 

“No,” interrupted Michel. “It is a question of 
pride with me. If I listened to my heart, it would not 
be long, ah! Heaven, no! But you heard what I said 
to Colette. I wish Suzanne to feel free. If she has 
known nothing about the Metropolitan Bank, if the story 
Colette told me is true, Suzanne will write without delay, 
as she promised. If, on arriving at Paris she has learned 
all, she will also write. Perhaps she will write to me; 
then be sure that I shall soon be with her. And, besides, 
even if she learns nothing, who knows? I shall possibly 
find a line at my home in Paris, where she thinks I am.” 

Michel grew excited while speaking; his face bright- 
ened. 

*¢ She will certainly have written to me — that I might 
come to see her —or to Robert. Why didn’t I think 
of that? You are right, I always look at things in the 
worst light. It would be so simple, so natural to expect 
— and yet I cannot, my friend, I cannot —” 

*¢ At least write to her.” 

“ It is her place to write.” 

** And if she has not written? ” Daran cut in almost 
brutally. 

Michel started. 

** Why do you say that? Why shouldn’t she write? ” 

“ How do I know? For the reason that neither you 
nor I know the cause of this strange departure? What 
shall you do, if she doesn’t write? ” 

**T shall wait two days, three days at most, then I will 


APRIL S: GADY 307 


write to her myself ; I will tell her that I am a ruined man, 
and that I will give her back her promise — that is what 
I shall do. But I will take no step beforehand; I have 
irrevocably decided upon that,-and no one could shake 
my resolution.” 

Michel now spoke in a tone so firm that Daran did 
not insist. With a slight shrug of the shoulders, he 
rose and held out his hand to his friend. 

* Good night, old man,” he said; “ you must have a 
little rest and quiet now; I’ll meet you at the seven 
o’clock train to-morrow.” 

As soon as he returned home, Albert Daran took up 
a notebook and wrote an address in it. Mademoiselle 
Gémier, 35 Rue des Saints-Péres. 


Vit 
S UZANNE had not written. Like Michel, she was 


waiting. 

The second day after her departure from Castelflore, 
always dominated by the same idea, telling herself that 
all was ended, she was in despair over the indifference of 
her future husband, even before being certain that Michel 
knew of her escapade. 

After luncheon she had taken refuge in Mademoiselle 
Gémier’s drawing-room and was trying to sew, when Al- 
bert Daran was announced. ‘Then wild terror made her 
spring from her seat; in an instant all the accidents, all 
the diseases, all the more or less probable events which 
might have befallen Michel, whom she had left perfectly 
well a few days before, darted through her brain and 
with a bound, rushing to meet the entering visitor, she 
could utter only one word: ‘* Michel? ” 

** Michel is well,” replied Daran quickly, “ and, like | 
him, all those you love.” 

* Does Michel send you?” the young girl questioned 
again. 

“* No, Mademoiselle; I have ventured to come myself. 
Will you pardon the liberty I have taken in doing so? ” 

Very pale, with one hand unconsciously clenched upon 
her throbbing breast, Miss Severn motioned Michel’s 
friend to a seat. 

“It is my place to ask pardon, Monsieur Daran,” 


she said, “for I am receiving you in a very strange 
308 


APRIL'S “LADY 309 


way. But I feel so alone, so deserted! For two 
days —” 

It was not yet two days, but the time had seemed to 
her very long. 

“ For two days, I have had nothing from any one, no 
one has remembered me.” 

This general term of no one might be translated by a 
single name: Michel. 

* But, Mademoiselle,” replied Daran, very respect- 
fully, “‘ did not you state, when you left — a little ab- 
ruptly — that you would write? At least that is what 
Madame Fauvel told Michel, whom I accompanied to 
Castelflore.” 

“To Castelflore? ” 

“To Castelflore, the evening of the day before yes- 
terday, Mademoiselle. Besides, have you written? ” 

“ No,” answered Miss Severn, in a curt tone; “no, I 
have not written.” 

And the idea entered her head: why had not chance, 
why had not Providence permitted her to meet Michel 
before she had put her unfortunate project into execu- 
tion? But no; the trains had passed each other at some — 
intermediate station. 

Daran made no answer. The young girl hesitated 
only a moment. 

**T did not write,” she said, “ because I did not want 
to write. Oh! I know, I have often boasted of being a 
reasonable person — but the most reasonable often have 
their hours of unreason. I imagined all sorts of things. 
I was in trouble — I —” 

She stopped, her lips quivered; she seemed on the 


310 APRIES” LADY 


verge of weeping. Daran could only question her with 
his eyes. In spite of his good intentions he did not feel 
that he had any right to interrogate more explicitly. 

** Mademoiselle Gémier did not write to me; Mademoi- 
selle Gémier did not summon me,” she went on with 
feverish vivacity. ‘If I left Castelflore, it was because 
Claude Béthune said — oh! only to tease me, in jest, not 
knowing the harm he was doing, that absurd story of our 
engagement which had been concealed from me— yes, 
that is why I went away — and then, too, on account of 
that horrible woman —” 

** What horrible woman? ” asked Daran bewildered. 

“That comtesse, you know very well, come — that 
horrible Comtesse Wronska! ” 

“Comtesse Wronska? ” repeated Daran, who under- 
stood less and less. ‘* Why, Michel has not seen her for 
years.” 

“Years! Ah! you are well informed; I congratulate 
you,” cried Miss Severn hotly. ‘‘ He saw her at Trou- 
ville this spring, and then he spent all Sunday with her 
at Barbizon. She wrote to Michel, she — oh! I should 
like to kill her!” 

“ Come, Mademoiselle,” replied Daran, summoning all 
his eloquence and all his judgment, “ it seems to me that 
— that in your emotion, you are entangling matters a 
little. Suppose we should try to classify them? I have 
lived longer than you, and I have often had occasion to 
prove that the majority of quarrels come from what peo- 
ple have neglected to explain clearly. Yes, I assure you, 
one perceives ninety times out of a hundred that a mere 
nothing, a word, would have been enough to comprehend ; 


APRIL'S LADY, 311 


it is always this one word which has not been spoken.” 

Miss Severn shook her head with an air of doubt and 
discouragement. 

“Do not be angry with me,” continued Daran; “ I 
am the oldest, and I might almost dare to affirm, the most 
devoted of Michel’s friends; by this title I feel, very re- 
spectfully, your friend also. That is why I believe I 
have the right to speak to you with this frankness.” 

“T am not at all angry with you,” murmured the 
young girl. 

“Thank you. This being agreed, I am going to 
prove at once how deceptive appearances often are. 
You tell me that Comtesse Wronska was at Barbizon, and 
that your betrothed husband had spent Sunday with her. 
I did not know, I confess, that Comtesse Wronska had 
written to Michel, but what I do know perfectly is that 
Michel did not go to Barbizon Sunday. He wrote to 
say that he was detained at Rivailler. And I have the 
better reason to state this because my valet carried the 
letter to the station, and Trémor spent all day Sunday, 
the entire day — I think he dined at Castelflore — at my 
house. Upon this fact, at least, I give you my word as 
an honest man.” 

** Oh! dear Monsieur Daran!” 

She had clasped her hands, her face was radiant. 

You see, Mademoiselle,” concluded the inventor of 
the Elixir des Muscogulges, smiling, “ that there might 
perhaps be a little exaggeration in killing Comtesse 
Wronska.” 

* And Claude’s story,” said Suzanne. ‘“ You must 
know it, since Michel has no secrets from you.” 


9 


312 APRIL oo; LADY 


Daran assented. 

“That is why I came. Oh! to think that that ridicu- 
lous joke was the cause of our engagement; to think 
that, in consequence of a jest, Michel believed himself 
forced to marry me; to think, above all, that it was I who 
thrust myself upon him, who wrote to say that I would 
consent to be his wife — when he had no desire to marry 
me; to think that he — that he did not love me, that per- 
haps he did not even like me, who knows? Oh, it is ter- 
rible, unbearable. Day before yesterday, when I dis- 
covered it all, I wanted to die.” 

“It is very fortunate that so imprudent a wish did 
not fall into the ears of some wicked fairy, Mademoi- 
selle,” remarked Daran. ‘ The somewhat singular cir- 
cumstances which accompanied — let us say even caused 
Michel’s engagement — are known to me. I should 
speak falsely were I to tell you that Trémor was delighted 
with Claude’s April Fool trick. No, at first, this impru- 
dent young fellow’s conduct very justly exasperated 
him. He had _ even positively decided to inform you, 
through Madame Béthune, that he did not intend to | 
marry.” 

* But then? ” 

** At least it was with this intention that he set out one 
morning for Précroix. What took place then between 
you and him, Mademoiselle, I do not know. But at that 
time, Michel was already very weary of his wandering 
life, very weary of solitude. Even admitting that the 
circumstances may have stimulated a somewhat timid 
will, believe that it was by his own free wish that Michel 
ratified the offer of that little rascal, Claude. And, be- 


APRIE:S: LADY 313 


sides, Mademoiselle, what do things in the past matter, 
since Michel who, at that time, felt only an affectionate 
sympathy for the little cousin whom he had scarcely seen, 
now loves sincerely, ardently, with all his heart, the 
fiancée whom he knows, whom he admires, to whom he 
has given his life? ” 

‘* Has he ever told you so? ” cried Suzanne, as T'rémor 
had done the evening before. 

* Yes, Mademoiselle,” Daran assented; “‘ he has told 
me so in the tower of Saint-Sylvére, while giving himself 
up, like you, to the most improbable and the most unjust 
- conjectures; he told me so while torturing his heart, 
while longing to rush to you, and denying himself this 
joy; he told me so with a multitude of mad words. He 
simply worships you, and the only thing that surprises 
me is that you have not divined this adoration.” 

Suzanne had flushed deeply. The happy light again 
appeared in her eyes, but without yet illumining her 
face. 

* Oh!” she murmured, “ there are days when we think 
we divine, and then others —” 

Even at this hour, she did not dare to be wholly con- 
vinced. 

* Tf he loves me,” she continued, trying to look severe, 
“ why didn’t he come, cost what it might; why, having no 
letter from me, did he not at least write to me, why, 

why? ” 

: “Why, Mademoiselle,” replied Daran, more gravely. 
* Perhaps it isnot my place to tell you; yet you must 
know. Because the Metropolitan Bank has just failed, 
because Michel finds himself, in a day, ruined, ruined to 


314 APRIES: LADY 


the point of being compelled to seek in the provinces 
some poor little position as an archivist or librarian and, 
under these conditions, he wishes to restore your freedom 
— that is why.” 


VIII 


7 ah IVE o’clock was about striking. Three times during 
the day, Michel had managed to return home, always 
hoping to find a letter from Suzanne, or a telegram from 
Colette. On that day, detesting deception, he had been 
obliged to inform his brother-in-law of Miss Severn’s 
presence at Mademoiselle Gémier’s. Robert had in- ~ 
stantly expressed his intention of going to the boarding- 
house in the Rue des Saints-Péres, at the first moment 
of leisure, but he was very busy, and as Michel had 
avoided giving the facts to Monsieur Fauvel, the latter 
had not paid much attention to the incident. 

After having confessed his real feelings to Daran, 
Michel experienced a sort of shame for this openness. 
He lunched with his friend and saw him two or three 
times without alluding to the conversation of the even- 
ing before. Daran respected this reserve. He cher- 
ished no illusions concerning the efficacy of the efforts 
made to shake Michel’s determination. But though 
Trémor might conceal his suffering, Albert well knew 
that in the midst of the most serious business, the young 
man still felt in the depths of his heart the little bleeding 
wound, while through his fevered brain constantly passed 
the temptation of those few words: “‘ 35 Rue des Saints- 
Péres.” 

And the clairvoyant friend was not mistaken. More 
than once, since his arrival in Paris, Michel had 


been on the point of going to ask Suzanne for the ex- 
315 


316 APRIL'S: “LADY 


planation he desired, while dreading. Yet he had re- 
sisted. 

Neither letter, nor despatch. How the hours dragged 
along! 

The anguish was becoming unbearable. The next 
day he would write or go to the Rue des Saints-Péres. 

After a fatiguing day he had returned, feeling very 
lonely and greatly depressed, to the apartment where so 
many things subtly reminded him of the comforts and 
delicate pleasures of his past life, yet experiencing a 
great need of solitude and rest. 

The servant had gone out; no step, no sound dis- 
tracted Michel’s thoughts. At the utmost a carriage 
occasionally passed along the street below. 

Trémor had sunk down upon the sofa in the smoking- 
room, where a few months before he had talked so long 
with Daran, and he remained there, without moving, his 
cigarette out, lost in a sort of reverie. 

It seemed as if he had absorbed some anesthetic pow- 
erful enough to paralyse the motions of his limbs, too 
weak to affect his thoughts. 

He heard the little bell at the door, but so vaguely, 
that the practical idea of going to open it did not cross 
his mind. It rang a second time, more loudly; then the 
"young man remembered that he had told Daran the hour 
when he expected to return home, and he rose quickly. 

At first Michel saw in the frame of the open doorway 
only a woman dressed in dark clothing, then it seemed 
as if a brilliant light suddenly illumined his visitor. He 
recognised Suzanne, and a singular mental phenomenon 


took place. While a flood of joy filled his heart, the 


APRILGS” LADY 317 


dim suspicion of a caprice, an intentional cruelty arose. 
Even at the moment when, perhaps madly, he almost be- 
lieved that his sufferings had been needless, he recalled 
them more fully and, with his complex feelings, came 
a sort of fierce resentment, strange and passionate wrath 
against the fragile creature who thus appeared before 
him. He did not ask himself whether Suzanne had 
heard of the disaster to the Metropolitan Bank, or if he 
still had to tell her. He did not remember, he realised 
one thing only — that in two days he had seemed to 
live through a whole existence, yet she was there, brought 
by a vision of the imagination, ready to smile, no doubt, 
perhaps waiting for the forgiveness to be implored 
which she herself should have sought, or rather not sus- 
pecting the torture she had caused for mere amuse- 
ment, 

* Tt is I,”? said Miss Severn, in a voice she endeavoured 
to render calm and even brave, though at the sight of 
Michel when the door opened, she had started. 

Trémor silently showed her into the smoking-room, 
then closed the door. 

Will you at last have the kindness,” he said, “ to 
inform me what has taken place within these two days? 
Not only did you leave Castelflore like a fugitive, but 
you did not consider it necessary to write a word to 
Colette or to me, you —” 

Tears rushed to Suzanne’s eyes, and she made an in- 
stinctive gesture to ask for mercy. 

“I went away because Claude had told me — because 
I thought that — horrible things! and then — Daran 
came, he told me that you were ruined, that. you were 


318 APRIL SAD Y. 


going to be a poor archivist in some province, that you 
no longer wished to marry me —” 

Michel listened with haggard features and white lips, 
not daring to speak, not daring to guess what Suzanne 
was going to say, his whole being concentrated in the 
gaze bent upon the agitated face of the young girl. 

For an almost imperceptible instant Miss Severn 
stopped, then clasping her hands and half weeping, she 
implored: 

Oh, Michel, I will work if it is necessary. I en- 
treat you, marry me all the same, I — ” 

But already, with a stifled cry, Michel had seized her, 
prisoned her in his arms, and for a long moment thus 
pressed her to his heart, finding no words to express the 
triumphant joy he felt, losing all idea of time, of the 
things surrounding him, not even seeing his. love, only 
conscious of her sweet presence, the perfume of her hair, 
the warmth of her brow, the emotion of her poor little 
heart. 

When he spoke, it was as if in a dream, very low, with 
an absurd fear of waking vanished sorrows. 

** You wished to marry only a rich man? ” 

** T did not know —” 

“Then you do love me a little? ” 

** A little,” she murmured; “ yes, that is it —” 

** My little Zanne, my beloved child, my treasure — I 
worship you!” 

Now he looked at her, admired her, wondered to find 
her wholly changed and yet entirely herself; he kissed 
her hair, he kissed away her tears, enjoying more sweetly 


APRIT'S LADY 319 


than in the first moment this happiness of being loved 
with genuine affection, with a love stronger than events, 
powerful enough to dominate them, perhaps to trans- 
form sorrow into joy, and anxieties to happiness. 

Then Suzanne sat down in the very place where he had 
suffered so much through her a moment ago. Then 
the dream the little fiancée had often had, and which had 
penetrated her despair the evening of the day before 
yesterday, was realised. 

As on the morning after the ball at Chesnaie, she saw 
the stern lord of the tower of Saint-Sylvére kneeling be- 
fore her. In a low tone, he told the young girl that he 
loved, worshipped her, that he was happy, that he had 
long adored her, but had never dared to tell her so. He 
said that he was still rich enough to give the woman he 
loved an easy life, yet he added that, even if he had been 
obliged to become “ a poor archivist in some province,” 
he would never have found courage, if she loved him, to 
give her up. He told her what their future life would 
be, that he would work a great deal; they would live in 
modest style in Paris, and perhaps might keep the tower 
of Saint-Sylvére. And then again that he loved, he 
worshipped his Susy, his little Zanne, and that he was 
happy! 

She listened, delighted, scarcely answering. She had 
found the refuge for which she longed. Had there ever 
_been a time when she would have taken a different view 
of life and happiness? It seemed to her that everything 
Michel said was beautiful and right, that everything he 
might desire, everything he might do, would be good and 


320 APRIES. GADY 


beautiful. It seemed as if this hour was even sweeter 
than her dreams had pictured it. She enjoyed its ex- 
quisite happiness with a sort of astonishment. It was 
really Michel who was talking, who was tenderly saying 
all these things. 

At the end of a moment, Suzanne related Claude’s 
revelations, and her grief, her wild resolutions. She 
wished to justify her reckless flight; perhaps she also 
desired to hear from Michel’s own lips the story which 
Daran had shortened. 

This story was another delicious thing. 

**T astonished you very much that day at the Bé- 
thunes’. I talked extravagantly ; had you ever imagined 
marrying a young girl like me? ” 

He smiled. 

“6 No.”? 

** Did you dislike me?” 'Then, without waiting for 
an answer: ‘Oh! Michel, I was ignorant! I did not 
know how to dissimulate. I had no idea of French cus- 
toms. Now TI have learned. Michel, if you did not dis- 
like me, why were you so disagreeable? Oh! dear, dis- 
agreeable to such a degree! How could I ever have 
been able to care for a man so disagreeable as you? ” 

‘IT was so jealous! And you were so coquettish, and 
so — American, and then — I loved you so much!” — 

“Oh! that is a fine reason! And now, here is a whole 
half hour during which you have not scolded me!, Yet, 
I think, I have committed to-day the very worst of my 
Americanisms.” 

“In France,’ Miss Severn went on with a comical 
assumption of seriousness, “a well-brought-up young 


APRIE?S:. GAD Y 321 


girl would never permit herself to come all alone in this 
way to a bachelor’s rooms — even though she was en- 
gaged to him! French customs —” 

** How well you have done to forget them at this mo- 
ment, my dear little madcap!” 

Susy laughed. ‘“ But,” she said, “ it is only for once 
—TI[ had not forgotten them at all. On the contrary!” 

She flushed crimson, her long lashes drooped and, 
while glancing through them, she murmured: 

“TI thought that when I had come so, alone, to a 
‘ bachelor,’ you would be obliged to become my husband; 
that is it.” 

“Oh! my darling!” was his only reply, touched by 
the smiling words. Then he added: 

** Daran has made me more heroic than I am.” 

“ Ah!” exclaimed Miss Severn, with a little cry of 
joy; “ how I adore that dear Daran! ”’ 

** And so do I,” agreed Michel. 

She looked at him again with her bewitching glance, 
so full of sparkling light. 

“ Michel,” she said, ‘* it seems to me that the little bit 
of romance, you know, my grandmother’s romance, has 
grown in my mind till gradually, of late, it has reached 
my heart.” 

But it was necessary to talk sensibly. They decided 
that Suzanne should return to Castelflore that very even- 
ing with Monsieur Fauvel. Michel, on account of an 
appointment with Maitre Allinges, must take one of the 
last trains. 

On the threshold of the door, Miss Severn stopped, 
saying: 


322 APRIL:S. LADY 


“ Will you give me a very great pleasure? I should. 
like to make an appointment with you, too.” 

He smiled, murmuring with a little shade of reproach: 
** As you did with Paul Réault.” 

** No,” she said, without being disturbed by the re- 
mark ; “ Paul Réault did not come, and I want you to do 
so. But when I said a meeting, no — it is rather a pil- 
grimage which we should make together.” 

Trémor questioned her with his eyes: 

“To-morrow, at half past ten, to the Green Sepul- 
chre; will you? ” 

While the young girl ran down the staircase Michel 
remained leaning over the railing, following her with his 
eyes. 

He felt a sort of astonishment that an instant could 
change everything in a life — that it is possible to pass 
thus, without any twilight, from sorrowful gloom to bril- 
liant, blazing light. 


IX 


W HILE a wan sunlight was illumining the dew upon 
the autumn leaves, Michel Trémor left the highway and 
turned into the path which loiters idly toward the cross- 
roads of Jouvelles and the Green Sepulchre. 

A rough little breeze had ill-treated the wood. Al- 
ready, like vague skeletons, the boughs could be divined 
beneath the lighter foliage of the trees. Wings some- 
times fluttered, little sharp cries expressed some sudden 
pain. And the pale, pale sun seemed like a phantom of 
the day-star. 

Michel Trémor thought of a day in March when he 
had thus followed the road to Jouvelles, believing that 
it resembled many others, when yonder, in the chapel, 
near the sleeping knight, his fate awaited him. 

The young man was comparing the Michel Trémor of 
yesterday and the Michel Trémor of to-day. The sight 
of the things which had passed before his eyes in the 
spring recalled the thoughts of that time. Faustine 
Morel, Comtesse Wronska! How those two names had 
occupied his brain, dragging with them the joys and 
sufferings of former days. 

Michel again saw Faustine’s smile, the smile which had 
rested on the young girl’s fresh lips and the cleverly 
rouged mouth of the woman, the little ironical smile 
whose secret he had never fathomed. 

In this hour of solitude which suddenly brought him 


face to face with the past, Michel realised with singular 
323 


324 APRIL’S, . LADY 


intensity what a distance now separated him from that 
time which he now scarcely recognised. 

The utter indifference of to-day melted into a sort of 
pity, not only for Faustine, but all the men and women 
who, in so short a life, suffer so many things. A feeling 
of melancholy stole over him, blending with his joy, 
without lessening it. Perhaps this very melancholy 
might be counted among the moral elements which made 
of his new love a new feeling, that differed as much 
from the former one as the man whom he had become 
differed from the man he had been. It was a deeper 
love, though pervaded by so glowing a passion. 

But, above all, it was Love! And gradually an emo- 
tion took possession of Michel’s heart and mind, drown- 
ing every memory, paralysing every effort of analysis, 
as the towers and the ivy robe of the Green Sepulchre - 
rose before him and every step brought him nearer the 
goal of the pilgrimage to which, by a pretty caprice of 
tenderness, Suzanne had bidden him. What mattered the 
past, the future, since she was there, loving, at last con- 
quered! 

He fancied he already saw her, with her ruffled hair, 
her rosy cheeks, in the gown she had worn the evening 
before, a dark silk gown, with light frills about the 
neck. He saw her joyous smile, heard her coaxing voice, 
a little childish in certain inflections. She was there, 
close at hand; she was there. 

Trémor entered; he had seen the figure of the knight 
from the doorway. All was very still, very silent around 
this stone slumber. And Suzanne? 

A light, slender figure darted suddenly from the back 


APRIL:S “LADY 325 


of the chapel, and Trémor at first felt a great and some- 
what childish disappointment in seeing —as if he had 
gone back six months into the past — the little bicyclist 
in the boyish costume who had appeared to him one 
spring evening beneath the blue light of a Gothic glass 
window. 

It was not she whom he had expected, no, not she at 
all. He felt this very keenly, but he tried to struggle 
against the impression; he even forced a smile — unless 
it was in answer to another smile which emerged from 

the shadow with the unlucky sporting costume. 
_ Ah! here you are at last!” 

She had held out both hands and, disarmed, Trémor 
had clasped them and kissed one after the other. 

She was still smiling, her eyes sparkling, very femi- 
ninely pretty, and Michel gazed at her forgetting every- 
thing else. 

* Come, Mr. Scientist,” she said, taking the young 
man’s hand in her turn; “ come and decipher a very an- 
cient and thoroughly historical inscription.” 

She led Michel to the rear of the chapel, and among 
the names written on the wall by so many women, mis- 
chievously pointed out one which was alone of its kind, 
at least under this foreign form, a very short name: 
Susy. The four letters were those the little bicyclist had 
traced by the light of a lantern, while, with his head full 
of memories Michel, standing on the threshold of the 
door, sadly watched the falling rain. 

* Michel,” asked Miss Severn, repeating, with a little 
emotion in her laughing voice, the legendary words: 
-“ Ts there a sweeter name? ” 


326 Arnis LADY 


Trémor shook his head. 

** No, my darling Susy, not to me,” he said tenderly ; 
“no, I know of none sweeter.” 

Suzanne looked at him with anxious intentness. 

“* Not even that of Allys? ” 

** Not even that.” 

She continued, unconsciously emphasising the words: 

** Not even that of — Faustine? ” 

“* Not even that, oh! I swear it!” 

** Do you remember,” Susy went on more gaily, “ that 
I thought you looked like the knight — I think so still.” 

** Yes, certainly, I remember.” 

** And do you remember what the legend you told me 
said? Only a name sweeter than that of Allys could re- 
store the poor knight’s repose. Can he sleep in peace, 
Michel? ” 

Michel smiled with a very young expression. 

“The legend said something else. And that is why 
the village girls were afraid to write their names in the 
chapel. It said that being very much in love with her 
who had saved him, the knight would not permit that she 
should have any other husband than he— You are 
right, my beloved Zanne, the knight and I do resemble 
each other a little.” 

** You resemble each other a great deal, so far as jeal- 
ousy is concerned. Confess!” 

But she did not give Michel time to confess. 

“What did you say in your letter to that wicked 
comtesse? ” she cried, seized with suspicion. 

Trémor could not help laughing at the connection. 

“JT told her that my fiancée had just been very ill, 


APRIL'S DADDY 327 


that for a moment I feared losing her, and that I was 
still too anxious to leave her, even for a day.” 

“Oh! Michel, that was not perfectly true, but how 
nice of you to say so! I detest that woman!” 

“Oh! why? ” 

“Because. She has not written to you again? ” 

“ee No.” 

** You will never see her again? ” 

“Never, very probably. But I could, I assure you.” 

* You don’t love her at all, not at all? ” 

Tt is a very long time, Susy, since I have loved 
her.” 

“Ts that true? ” 

“ Why, yes, it is true.” 

“ Perfectly true? ” 

“ Perfectly.” 

Miss Severn reflected an instant, then gently laying 
her hands on Michel’s shoulders, she looked up at him, 
her eyes full of smiles. 

** No matter,” she said, “* I would rather, I would much 
rather you should not see her again.” 

Michel regained possession of the two little hands and 
gazed silently at the pretty, coquettish face with its 
downcast lashes. 

“ Susy,” he murmured, deciding to speak, “ why did 
you put. on this hideous costume which I dislike? ” 

She turned her head toward the door with a nod, and 
said drolly : 

** T have my fancies.” 

But the explanation did not seem sufficient, for Michel 
continued in the ‘same tone of gentle reproach: 


328 APRIT’S LADY 


** When I see you thus disguised, I no longer find my 
pretty fiancée; you look like a naughty little boy.” 

‘The past must be reconstituted,” she said, with the 
same comical expression, “ and then —” 

She paused and in a lower tone, with sudden emotion, 
continued : 

* Michel, I am not perfect, I have many faults. Per- 
haps, who knows? I wanted to remind you of them 
to-day? ‘This ugly little boy who has often shocked you 
is not dead in me. From time to time, alas! he will re- 
appear, oh! that is certain, even when we are married. 
He will weary you; he will vex you again and —I want 
you to love him, Michel, though he displeases you, as 
you love the Susy who pleases you. Oh! dearest, I want, 
I want you to love him.” 

She spoke sweetly, timidly, in a delicate fear, a pretty 
humility, expressing as best she could that ardent desire, 
that necessity for exclusive love, tender indulgence, 
which she had in her heart. Michel was deeply touched. 
Speaking also in a very low tone, as if the secret must 
belong to Suzanne alone, he said the words she expected: 

* Well, I will love him; I do love him —I love you 
only ; I love all that is in you, all that is you.” 

And he added smiling, a little embarrassed: 

“ T, too, have faults, and far more than you, perhaps. 
Have you forgotten how often I have been unjust, 
cruel — even to you, whom I worshipped? Let us love 
each other fully, my own dear love; let us love each 
other such as we are.” 

And never, as at that hour, had he felt that he loved 
Suzanne “ such as she was,” such as nature, environment, 


4 


APRIL?S. LADY 329 


education had made her, that he loved in her, not an 
ideal, but her entire self ; that he loved her, in short, with 
that exclusive and clairvoyant love of which six months 
before, on the strand of Trouville, with her enigmatic 
smile upon her lips, Comtesse Wronska had spoken. 

Gradually the wan sun had brightened. It was shin- 
ing with a more golden radiance upon the grass and the 
leaves which framed the door; it flamed with the yellows 
and blues of the ancient glass; it lay with a warm caress 
upon the brow of the knight. And it seemed as if the 
grave stone countenance was beaming with a gentle joy, 
as if really, on this autumn morning something myste- 
rious had brought him peace. Michel felt as if, this 
beautiful smiling sun had penetrated his own heart. It 
suddenly seemed to him that he regretted nothing of the 
past, not even perhaps the fortune whose loss had at first 
affected him so painfully. 

The brilliant rays reminded him of another morning 
when, with all the windows open to the April light, he 
had tried to classify,— to follow Daran’s advice,— the 
documents which constituted the foundation of his fu- 
ture History of the Hétheens. He saw again the scat- 
tered sheets, the notes, the piles of sketches ; he recalled 
his fumbling, his uncertainties, his indolent hesitations 
of that time. No, he regretted no portion of the past. 
Now new energies awoke in him. He would labour. 
He would try to realise his dreams. He would no longer 
work as a dilettante, in idleness ; he would toil valiantly, 
sanely, giving all his efforts, all his capacity, like a man. 

With her head leaning on her lover’s breast, Suzanne 
looked at him from time to time, but without speaking. 


330 APRICS: LADY 


** Michel,” she murmured at last, unconsciously an- 
swering the thought within her companion’s mind, “ is 
not God good and life beautiful? We shall be very 
happy.” 

“ Yes, very happy,” he assented. 

Then he bent to the face smiling up at him; in the 
ancient chapel by the soft blue light which had sheltered 
their first interview, they exchanged the kiss of their 
real betrothal. 

And the grave knight of the tower of Saint-Sylvére 
was thinking the same thoughts as the little April 
fiancée ; he was thinking that God is good; he was think- 
ing also that life is beautiful, when a great work is its 
duty, and a great love is its joy. 





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